


Two Is A Prime Number

by Kirkeyressa



Category: Team Fortress 2, Transformers: Prime
Genre: (there's like little drawings at the end made by me if you wanna take a peek), Art, Canon-Typical Violence, Crossover, Humanformers, Humor, Multi, Taxidermy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-24
Updated: 2020-02-28
Packaged: 2020-05-18 18:36:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 34,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19340257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kirkeyressa/pseuds/Kirkeyressa
Summary: A mysterious woman offers a prisoner a new lease on life, via a very peculiar job...





	1. All Four Inches Of It

**Author's Note:**

> So yeah, uhh... Pretty much what it says on the tin, this fic is a crossover between Team Fortress 2 and Transformers Prime, with the added caveat that the robots are human, and have been their whole human lives, and are also in the Team Fortress 2 universe. So I guess a bit more than just what it says on the tin, oops.
> 
> Required reading\viewing would be all of the canon Team Fortress 2 material you can get your hands on, but especially the Meet the Team\other videos and the comics. Knowledge of the response lines\hidden material helps too, they're all collected in the wiki, browse to your heart's content. Oh yeah also there's a game or something? I guess you can play it, if you're a loser chump nerd.
> 
> For Transformers Prime, just the show itself, which is to say the 3 seasons and the ending movie thingy. Greater Transformers knowledge is not a necessity but will definitely help, especially for some of the jokes and references I'll end up sneaking in.
> 
> Huge special thanks to Leneia for beta-reading my horseshit, luv u gurl <<<<<<<<<3333333
> 
> (all art by me unless specified)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> don't smoke, kids

The prisoner rubbed sweaty palms on his orange jumpsuit. A shaky breath escaped his lips. He tried to suppress a grin.

He was no stranger to giving death the slip. He practically made a career out of it. But this? Even for him, this was very, very fortunate.

The grim and taut woman in front of him was a complete stranger. She looked to be in her seventies, her face and hands were gaunt, her eyes narrowed and her lips thin and dry, barely having left a cigarette for but a few seconds at any given time. Her done up black hair and her pressed purple dress suit only further betrayed the status of someone with far more important things to attend to. She hadn't uttered a single word since he was shoved into the stuffy room by two towering prison guards, now blocking the entrance outside the steel door.

The dim lamp buzzing above and the humming drone of the wall-mounted vent accompanied the woman’s page flips. He swallowed a bit, whatever delayed his sentence was fine by him. Yet still, he wondered what he had done for her to appear. He felt like he couldn’t ask. Or that he should never know.

Yet here she was, and all he knew so far was that she had a job for him. That’s what the warden told him. He guessed that job wasn't “dance at the end of a rope” which was all he could hope for at this point.

Shame about his escape plan. He sharpened his toothbrush for it and everything. He frowned a bit. On second thought, it was doomed to fail. Maybe if he had a tiny passport...

He dared a glance at the papers the woman was studying; current circumstances and her vaguely threatening aura be damned, he wanted answers. Some smoke poured from her nostrils and fell onto the paper, crisp and dry like the hands holding it. She tapped her cigarette over an ashtray, a small, monolithic slab, black as the void and of flawless craftsmanship. The smoke plumes glided further over the pile of folders. He could see one of them had his prison mugshots, some from his current prison, and some he was in before. The legs of his seat squealed against the concrete floor as he leaned in to get a closer look.

None of the words could be read at a distance, so he tried instead to look for photos, newspaper clippings or even some familiar handwriting. The only thing he recognized so far were the mugshots, but even the form it was attached to was alien to him.

The woman flipped a stapled and slightly yellowed page over, drawing in another puff. The man tapped his fingers on his knee. He was about to bow his head, until a picture on the old paper caught his eye. 

It was a small black and white portrait of a young man. Piercing, alert eyes gleamed underneath very generously sized eyebrows, and his mouth was drawn in a devilish grin. An immaculate Royal Air Force uniform completed the ensemble. 

He still had it. Either in a storage house in Queens or buried in a field in northern Montana. He’d have to check.

The prisoner stirred in his seat and pointed at the photo. “Where did you get that?” he dared to pull the corner of the paper in an attempt to free it.

The only part of her that moved were her eyes. A chilling gaze that immediately made him unhand it. The old steel chair squeaked as he sat back on it. 

Yellowed nails pulled the papers out from the folder. She raised an eyebrow at them. “What, these?” she asked facetiously. “Army documents? Please…” She picked up the folder and went through its contents, away from prying eyes. 

“If you're startled by how I got mere government records…” She slowly closed the folder and placed it down on the desk. An envelope was produced from the massive pile and dangled in front of him. “...you won't like what’s in here.”

The man’s eyes widened. He snatched the envelope and gave it a once over, paying no heed to the woman's icy scowl. 

It was a very standard envelope, blank, a bit browned, but otherwise completely clean... Save for three faint blood spots on the back of it.

He opened the lip of it slightly, eyes wide in disbelief. “No… It can't be…” His whispered words failed to pull any explanation from her. She averted her gaze with closed eyes and took another drag of her cigarette.

He pulled on the corner of the letter contained within. Only one flash of it met his eyes before he abruptly shut the envelope and grasped it against his chest.

Eyes wide as saucers, he looked up at her. All of his questions only manifested as a small gasp that the woman cut short.

“The only thing you should know is that this, and many other... tidbits about you weren't very hard to find…” She tapped the cigarette over the ashtray again. He looked down at the envelope, his grip loosening on it a little.

The prisoner bared his teeth. “Tidbits?!” He waved the envelope forward for emphasis “This...horrid communication is merely a point of amusement to you?!” His free hand gripped the armrest as he rose from his seat. The woman said nothing, despite the prisoner's outburst.

Her callous laugh suddenly cut through the silence. It was met by his growl.

“Do sit down…” Her tone was harsh, spoken through clenched teeth. He complied.

She drew out another smoke filled breath. The pungent tobacco hit the man’s flared nostrils, huffing to disperse the stifling fumes.

“I doubt you would have had any use for it in, oh…” She glanced at the clock on the side wall. “Two hours.”

A bowed down head and a growling sigh was his resignation to letting her continue 

“I'm trying to help you…Starscream. Think of all of this as your resume.”

He jolted at hearing his nickname. He felt a strange surge of gratitude as he thought about the myriad of pseudonyms he made for himself over the past three decades. None of them he wanted to hear her call him by, nevermind his real name. Especially not his real name. But maybe she didn't figure out his real name. Despite her nosiness, it could be the one thing she could not have pieced together.

Starscream's grip on the envelope lessened. He looked at it. How a mysterious woman rifling through his personal documents was supposed to help him, he didn't know. No, it's not that he didn't know, not entirely. He didn't believe it. The things she must have done just to halt this entire... _process_ he was supposed to go through. It's a miracle if she won't be executed herself.

The envelope crinkled dryly in his hand, smelling faintly of dust that had been only recently cleaned off. He didn't feel too thankful. Not after this.

He looked up at the woman.

“Better you have it than the termites.” A slight show of a curled lip suggested that she really couldn't care either way.

“I can keep it?” He asked, suspicious.

She shrugged, a hand propping up her elbow. “It's yours, isn't it? Besides, I already had copies made.”

His lips formed into a sneer at the thought of copies of this letter existing. He tucked the letter into his jumper’s breast pocket. 

He slumped back into his chair and pulled it forward. “Very well.” Taking a deep breath, his disgust at all of the smoke hopefully not showing, he masked his defiance with a tone of minimal politeness. “What do you want from me?” 

“Yes, enough pleasantries, I’ll get right to the point.”

The woman leaned forward, fingers intertwined, and on the table. “You are an incredibly lucky man. For every countless felony or treason against the state you have committed, there always was… something.” She flicked through the folder pile for emphasis. “An unlikely alibi, a well placed window, a sufficient bribe… There always seems to be an escape for you at the ready.”

Her tone was completely devoid of scorn, admiration or flattery, spoken as matter of factly as a newscaster, or a documentary narrator.

Starscream straightened himself up a bit. He was indeed renowned for not dying, and sometimes he even had a hand in it.

The woman rested her chin on crossed fingers. “And you needed them. You were never very…subtle about your true motives...”

His objection was prefaced with a scoff. “Is honesty not a virtue?” 

“It is…” The last word lingered, in the same way most would talk to a child. “And it makes my job so much easier. So many try to hide their motivations, masquerading behind rationality and sob stories. Others don't even know what they want…” Calm gestures punctuated her tale.

“But you? I know what you crave above all else… One thing and one thing only: power.”

A smirk crept on Starscream’s face, trailing into a chuckle. “What can I say; I have simple tastes…”

She raised an eyebrow, and her grin faded. “Well, I can't give you power. That is something that is very, very hard-earned.” She took another slow drag of her cigarette, this time maintaining eye contact with him instead of returning to the papers. Starscream’s nose wrinkled slightly as the smoke settled around him. He caught her implication, almost as vile as the potent fumes drying his throat.

“But I can give you the next best thing.” She barely broke eye contact as she put out her cigarette. “Two things, even. I’m feeling very, very generous today.” 

“And just what are these things?” Starscream narrowed his eyes, an attempt to seem like he was in a position to refuse anything better than bail and enough change to buy lunch afterwards.

The woman took another cigarette and lit it. She took a few starter puffs from it and sifted through the folder pile. Starscream let out a quiet, impatient huff.

“Simple: money and not dying...”

She pulled out the bottom-most folder from the stack. It was unlike the other files, it looked brand new and relatively thin. She produced a small rectangular paper from it. “...Of which you'll find I can offer plenty…”

It was a check, to the order of 500,000 dollars.

“Your first monthly paycheck, should you accept this offer.” She slid it towards him.

Starscream stared flabbergasted at the paper. This woman… This complete stranger not only was saving him from death row, but doing so to the tune of six million dollars a year. This had to be a dream, or at least a horrid scheme of sorts. He turned the check over in his hand and inspected it. To his mixed horror and elation, it seemed legitimate.

He breathed in to compose himself. His grip tightened on the check before he flattened it back on the table. He crossed his legs and leaned back into his chair, hands on his knee. “And what do I have to do in return to reap these substantial benefits?”

The woman blew some smoke out of her nostrils. She took the cigarette out of her mouth and spoke. “Are you at all familiar with mercenary work?”

Starscream leaned forward, grinning. “Well, I--”

She waved a hand, interrupting him. “Yes, ridiculous question, of course you are…” She tapped the cigarette into the ashtray a few times. “I was just making sure that we’re all on the same page.” Her mouth creeped into a grin for a few seconds. She resumed smoking, staring down at him.

Starscream’s mouth still hung agape from the interruption. He clenched it shut and leaned back in his chair once more, sighing out a low growl.

The gall of this woman… Sauntering in here, waving some of his most guarded secrets in his face as leverage for some headhunting contract. If he was in a better position, he’d send her away and simply organize a way to steal the money from her.

But he was in no such position. She was his only escape from certain death. He had surveyed this prison astutely. It was much better equipped than most facilities he usually found himself in, and the guards patrolled constantly, and in very irregular schedules. Cameras were everywhere. The checkpoints numerous and reinforced. And everyone he still had a shred of goodwill with was in deep as well, or even worse off.

Escape was impossible.

He stared at the check in front of him.

“So…what is this job, more specifically?”

 

\--------

 

*Clak!*

*Thunk*

Scout grinned. Perfect. Another bullseye, right on the Spy’s noggin. Well, his cardboard replica, anyway. Left a nice dent too.

He flipped his bat and effortlessly caught it. He didn’t get to use his Sandman that often. Not enough wide open spaces out in the field. That and the big crack in the middle was starting to worry him. Maybe Engie could help him with it. With some glue, or something... Whatever a bat would need other than the black tape that he totally didn’t steal from Medic.

As much as he would have liked to keep cracking skulls, he had to get some target practice in. He picked up the ball and went to set both it and the bat in his locker. From his other weapons, he settled on his regular pistol. No need to get all fancy, just a few shots.

He punched the big green button that made the targets move. He wasn’t paid to shoot at stuff that stood still. Well, except the BLU Sniper.

He chambered a round and pointed it at the nearest target. Soldier's blue uniform caught his eye as he looked down the sight. He pointed the gun right under the first grenade. He pulled the trigger and--

**“ATTENTION MERCENARIES!”**

“Gah!” Scout yelped as his wrist bent upward. He immediately ducked, worried about ricochet. Thankfully the bullet hit the back wall, firmly embedding itself in the concrete.

Scout rubbed his wrist, glaring at the speaker above.

**“PLEASE PROCEED TO THE BRIEFING ROOM IN 20 MINUTES. FAILURE TO ATTEND WILL RESULT IN THE IMMEDIATE TERMINATION OF YOUR CONTRACT.”**

The intercom signal cut out.

Scout's anger gave way to curiosity. Whatever the Announcer was rushing them for had better be important.

He lightly jogged over to his locker and put the pistol back in. The plywood props of the opposing team ground to a halt, silently mocking him.

\---

The conference room was a flurry of shouted laughter and conspiratorial whispers. Spy tried to keep up with all of their outlandish theories, but quickly abandoned that endeavour as soon as the conversations fractured off. He tipped some of his cigarette ashes into the tray and opted to watch the clock, finger gently tapping on the slim folder on the table, guarding it near him.

“Only 5 minutes left now...” Engineer leaned in and whispered in Spy's direction. Pyro noticed and looked at Spy, expectant, as if the strange firebug ever even understood anything.

The Frenchman averted his eyes from both of the goggled mercs. “Yes Engineer, I am well aware.” He loudly exhaled smoke through his nose.

“Hah! Let the lad be late!” laughed Demoman, having somehow caught wind of the conversation over the noise the others were making. “I was eyeing a nice villa in the Tuscan countryside anyway...” He rubbed his chin wistfully.

Spy quirked an eyebrow, bemused. “Really now? Are you sure you wouldn’t rather stay at your mother’s house and weep over soap operas?”

Engineer stifled a brief laugh.

Demoman shook his head, still smiling. “Nah, I’m over that. If I’m gonna get fired again, I’m gonna actually make something of myself, fully enjoy it…”

Medic chimed in from across the table. “By the coast or more in-land?”

Spy was about to recommend the former when Engineer drew his attention again with an unsubtle cough. ”In all seriousness, shouldn’t we uhh… Go look for him? He might be lost. We don’t exactly hold conferences often…”

The Frenchman took out his cigarette. “He’ll find it eventually. If anything his faster speed that he constantly brags about will make it easier to correct his many navigational mistakes, will it not?”

Engineer winced. “Spy, at least… I don’t know, wave him down or something?”

Before Spy could even consider it, a booming voice rose from near the door.

“Don’t worry, men! I will go outside this room and look for Scout! If I am not back by 5 minutes, tell Demoman that the property near Florence is cheaper further from the coast and just as lovely!” Soldier waved a finger around and marched out the room.

It was Spy’s turn to rise from his chair, fingers straining on the table. 

“You will do no such thing.” Spy sighed through bared teeth. “Sit back down.”

“I will do no such thing!” Soldier exclaimed proudly, leaning away from the door, into the hallway.

“Very well, now, if you could kindly come back to your seat--” Spy pleaded tiredly.

“I don't have to; he is right here!” Soldier grinned, as a very confused Scout rushed over and was grabbed by the shoulders. The disparate conversations united in scant cheering at Scout’s arrival and settled into relative silence.

“Come on in, son! Spy's about to tell us all about the beautiful sunny vineyards of southern Italy!”

Scout glared at Spy. “This better not be why we’re here…”

The masked man returned the glare at the two imbecilic Americans before him. The fact that Scout wasn’t even out of breath made Spy fume. 

“You are no position to chide any of us, considering that your impeccable sense of direction nearly cost us all our jobs.”

Scout rolled his eyes. “It ain’t like we eat dinner here every night, Spy.” He lazily pulled up a chair next to Soldier and kicked back his sneakers on the table.

Spy gritted his teeth. He heard some of the other mercs chuckle. “Scout, if you could please, for one second in your life--”

A very large and imploring hand stuck out between them. 

“What matters…” Heavy’s voice rumbled “...is that we are all here. And that we can proceed now.”

The other mercs looked at Spy. The Frenchman cleared his throat and adjusted his tie. “Yes. Thank you, Heavy.” He picked up the folder and flicked it open slightly. “Legs off the table, if you please, Scout.”

Spy didn’t look up from the open folder. A muffled laugh from Pyro and a clearer chuckle from Sniper suggested Scout opted to make a rude gesture instead. 

“Now, gentlemen.” Spy flipped a corner of one of the documents, still hiding it from view. “You may be wondering why we are all here.”

“Nah mate, we’re just ‘ere for the fun of it,” Sniper bit back, still laughing, staring from under his shades. 

“I think what he's getting at, Spy…” Engineer adjusted his helmet. “Is that we noticed that you seem to know what this whole meeting is about, and we don’t.”

Spy inhaled, surveying the room. “Fine. You want me to be blunt? Listen well, then.”

The other mercenaries leaned in closer, fully attentive. Soldier looked like he was going to fall on the table. 

“In three days’ time, we shall be joined by another team of mercenaries.”

Everyone in the room loudly objected, all at the same time. Spy’s grip on the folder tightened. He raised his voice.

“Before you all accuse me of withholding this from you for who knows how long… I myself have only known about this for 20 minutes before the meeting.”

Demoman was the first to raise a question over the ruckus. “How’d you get the files then?”

Spy shrugged. “In the mail, as we all do.” 

“This will cause a bit of an upset, numerically speaking…” Medic mused. For a man of his accomplishments, he was certainly fond of stating obvious facts with no hint of irony. “Will the BLU team get nine additional recruits as well?”

“Good question.” Spy paused briefly to draw a breath of his cigarette. He delighted as Medic’s eye twitched at the smoke creeping out of his slightly grinning mouth.

“BLU is indeed to receive additional recruits.” He held up a hand, preemptively dismissing incoming complaints. “You seem to have me backed into a corner today…” His hand was splayed on his chest. “In the face of such insurmountable adversity, I will admit to contacting my counterpart from the other team after scouring through these documents. We saw it fit to share information. Nothing here is marked as classified. Not for all of us, at least.”

Sniper sneered. “He told you all this? Just like that? Not very Spy-like of him...”

“He did, bushman. Not that he had much to hide.”

“What… What d’you mean?” Sniper’s frown softened into a gawk of confusion.

Spy recounted his opponents’ exact words over the phone, unbeknownst to his own team. “By all accounts, Builders League United will be blessed in welcoming gifted scientists, dedicated keepers of the peace, and even a Nobel prize winner.”

The red-clad team let out a few good-natured jeers at BLU’s expense, followed by some insults of the hippie-hating persuasion coming from Soldier. Spy waited for the obvious to be brought up.

The one to bring it up was not as obvious as he had expected.

“So uh… Who do we get?” Scout asked with a bit of a crooked, raised lip. 

The room fell silent once more.

Spy drew out another puff of his cigarette. He slapped the folder in the center of the table. The other mercs gawked at some of the papers sliding out, but none deigned to touch anything yet. Scout at long last took his legs off the table to get a better look. The Frenchman let out a long smoke filled breath.

“Psychotic murderers with delusions of grandeur.”

 

\---------

 

“...And that’s how I got banned from ever entering the state of Vermont! You’d think the senator would have lent me a hand, but no, he was too busy at a fundraiser for destitute acupuncturists...”

Ms Pauling nodded along blithely to the man recounting his own exploits, her professional, well-worn and tired grin straining under her mounting exasperation. Where the Administrator kept finding these sorts of people, she had no idea. Well, she did know, up to a point. She got this crop from either prestigious news publications or in high security penitentiaries. 

Sadly, the one sitting in front of her in the train cart prattling on about his misadventures to her was of the latter group.

She looked up for a moment, actually trying to listen to him. The theatrical hand gestures were still going strong. 

“Now I, of course, wasn’t about to let something as foolish as a rhinoceros stop the concert--”

“Uh, Starscream?” She interrupted, as politely as she could suffer. “It is ‘Starscream’, isn’t it?”

The sweeping hand motions came to an abrupt halt, and so did the story, dying with a short stuttering sigh.

“Sorry to derail this conversation, but we must--” A smile appeared on her face “Oh! Ha, ‘derail’! Because we’re on... a…” 

He stared at her, frowning.

She cleared her throat, “Yeah, so, Starscream, I don’t get many opportunities to come by the base, and my hands will be very full in the coming weeks. If you have any questions, it’s a good idea to ask them now.” She held her pen over her documents on the clipboard, at the ready.

The man leaned back on the slightly cushioned backrest, his frown now more one of contemplation. He hummed as he scratched at his wrapped hand.

“I did have a few, actually. I’ll start with the most perplexing one. The contract mentioned something called a ‘respawn machine’. I am extremely skeptical of it... Does it… truly do as promised?” His voice was low and his eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“It does, actually!” Ms Pauling chirped proudly. “You’ll find out more about it once you get settled in, but yes, it will bring you back unharmed almost instantly.”

Starscream’s eyes widened. “It does? But, how--”

“Are you at all familiar with Australium?” She asked.

He raised his hands and snarled. “Oh, of course it runs on Australium…” A sneer accompanied his arms crossing. “Tell me, Ms Pauling, does it also yell about skinning a shark with only your teeth as you reshuffle the mortal coil?”

“Thankfully, no. TF Industries’ engineers saw fit to oversee much of its build themselves. I imagine part of the reason was to prevent, well, what you just said, or something even worse.” Ms Pauling’s voice went up a bit on her last words as the cart hit a bump in the rails. She adjusted her glasses. The ride was relatively smooth but there were a few rougher snags in the tracks as they approached the base.

Starscream winced at the noise but was otherwise unshaken. “Still, something that’s able to just… Bring people back?”

“Yup, sure does that. Pretty much every day.” She swept some stray hairs behind her ear.

A very large eyebrow went upward. “Dare I ask how much that would even cost?”

“You may not! But I can tell you that it’s way cheaper than looking for mercenaries every time they die permanently. And considering how often that happens, we’d have to go looking for a replacement every, oh…” She pressed her pen on her pursed lips. “Two minutes?”

Ms Pauling could have sworn she saw distress dawning on his face, if only for just a moment. He rapidly tried to mask that with a boast. “Well, yes, I suppose I’ll just have to get very good at avoiding occupational hazards then. It is what I was hired for…” The cart jostled briskly again, displacing his hand from his chest. He opted to cross them back.

“Yeah, about that, I was going to ask...” She used her pen to point down at his feet.

At the end of the mercenary’s knee high white socks was the suspect footwear. Completely black, save for the two white stripes on each of the insoles and the red trimming on the inner heel… All four inches of it.

“How exactly do you plan to run in those?” She eyed him quizzically.

Starscream scoffed, lifting one foot to the side. “I did pass the running test with them, didn’t I? I fail to see the problem.”

She flipped a paper over. “I know you did, got the results right here.” She briefly showed him the clipboard. He was unmoved, mouth held in a bitter pout.

“But it’s one thing to pass a test and another to keep up with men half your age. Especially since none of them will be wearing...” She gestured again to his heels, the kindness to her voice dropped on that last remark, despite her best efforts.

“Ms Pauling…” He growled, uncrossing his arms and resting a hand on each knee, head bowed forward. “If I recall correctly, these shoes are Mann Co.-made, are they not? Should I suddenly fail, the blame isn’t on me, isn’t it?” He was smirking, but his eyes were still widened in frustration.

She was about to pursue in her objections, but she stilled herself. “Wait… They’re from Mann Co.?” She rapidly glanced at them.

Starscream looked just as confused. “Well... for the price I had to pay, I certainly hope so.”

The assistant scowled slightly, whatever anger she held for this strange new recruit pathetically lamenting over his far too expensive shoes subsiding. All at once she felt only impotent contempt for the over-muscled and idiotic CEO of Mann Co, always pumping out new weapons and trinkets, each more ridiculous than the last. It made her wonder why the Administrator ever debased herself by even pretending to work for him. And it made her wonder why she went along with that woman for as long as she did.

Ms Pauling shook her head, clearing her thoughts, briskly waving a hand at the man. ”Fine, alright, keep the heels. It’s coming out of your paycheck anyway.” She tipped her glasses after yet another bump.

Starscream winced a bit, both at the implied price and the rough ride, she assumed, but was still smirking. “A sacrifice I am willing to make...”

“All of this just to look down on a few people?” She realised the double meaning of her accusation a bit too late.

The smile he shot back could have curdled honey. “Guilty as charged...” 

An uneasy feeling washed over her. The feeling that no one above her knows what they’re doing, and that the ones below her will kill her in her sleep. All of them operating under their own unpredictable and perplexing whims. 

Business as usual, then. She chippered up instantly, ignoring Starscream’s unsettling facsimile of clout. Her face once again tugged into her usual artificial grin. 

“So… any other questions?” 

Starscream drew a breath, the very image of uptight, loathsome composure. This one in particular will be a handful, she thought to herself with dread.

Thankfully, his conceited airs were completely shattered by a huge explosion in the distance, not too far from the base.

Ms Pauling barely flinched as the cart undertook its biggest tremor yet. She stifled a giggle at the man, now almost completely curled up in a ball on the seat. He peeked from under his arm to glance at the window behind him, from which a mushroom cloud could now be seen.

He managed to squeak out a reply.

“I may have a few more inquiries, yes...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [](https://imgur.com/Mu9G7Jn)   
> 
> 
> [extremely dignified bird squawk] 


	2. More New Mercs Than You Can Shake Hands With

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> more decepticons as tf2 mercenaries? more decepticons as tf2 mercenaries.

“Here is the practice room!” 

The assistant gestured widely in front of her, showing off the next stop on their tour of the base. A metal fence blocked them off from the rest of what appeared to be a regular warehouse. Large wooden crates were piled up halfway to the ceiling, and various weapons and guns were strewn about on some of the more reachable boxes. 

Despite it being a practice room, it was strangely bereft of battle damage, save for a single bullet hole in the back wall.

“It looks rather unused…” Starscream said, leaning a hand on the fence and gripping it. “Is this entire room also hooked up to the respawn machine?” He didn't even know if he was being sarcastic at this point.

Ms. Pauling shook her head. “Not this time, just a very thorough cleaning job.”

The man nodded wearily as his gaze wandered over to some of the weaponry. It was quite varied, ranging from standard pistols to rocket launchers and sniper rifles. A few close combat weapons were also scattered about, such as a firefighter’s axe and a large knife.

Some plywood cutouts were there as well, but instead of depicting regular bullseye targets or vague silhouettes, the boards were painted over to look like a variety of individuals. The nearest looked like a typical army GI, another like a construction worker, and one laying much farther back was a huge, hulking man, carrying a massive minigun. They all shared a blue color palette.

He pointed a disdainful finger at one of them. “Who are those idiots?”

“Oh, they’re your teammates, sort of. Sometimes. You’ll see them in about…” she flipped two pages on her clipboard, “Ten minutes?! I could have sworn it was fifteen… Let’s keep moving!” 

She rushed out of the room, gesturing at the man to follow. He complied, easily keeping up with the overburdened assistant. He slowed down his steps even more when she started trying to read off one of her innumerable lists.

“Showers, kitchen, locker room… All that’s left is… Oh, your room!” She rounded a corner near one of the living spaces. It lead into an unassuming yet spacious hallway. 

He came to a halt as he realized he had walked right past Ms Pauling, and was now somewhere in the middle of the corridor. He looked at the doors. They were the same heavy yet well-polished red wood, all at the same distance from each other. The only difference was the little symbols on them: nine different ones, each appearing twice, and the doors with the same emblems faced each other.

The room, or rather the two rooms, he stopped in front of were bearing an icon in the shape of a fist. 

“Oh, uh, over here.” She waved and pointed at his room’s door, smiling expectantly.

“Yes, coming.” He frowned at the fist emblem and rejoined the woman, now dialing a code on the keypad and sticking her tongue out while doing so. The lock clicked open. A scowl crept on the man’s face as he watched her tap a single key four times.

“One-one-one-one?!”, came his shrill objection.

A page was flipped and a checkbox was ticked on the clipboard once again. “Don't worry, you can change it if you want.”

“Well, I certainly will!” he snarled. “Honestly, at what level is the security here if you consider this as an acceptable passcode-- how are my things all here.”

Indeed, there they were, right in this room, Starscream’s things. Not all of them, granted, but quite a few, and still his. His books, his clothes, his photos…even a desk he once owned. The only pieces he didn't recognize were the shelving units, a drawer, the bed, its own linens and a large, stuffed green chair in the corner.

“My…my things are here.” The man stammered, barely audible, eyes wide and mouth agape.

“Hmm?” Came the only reply.

Starscream pointed tersely at the fully furnished room. “These are all my things!”

“Well, yeah, it _is_ your room.” Ms Pauling rolled her eyes while smiling. “Why wouldn’t it have your things in it?”

He picked up a faded, sharply dressed teddy bear set on his pillow. “Oh my God, you even got Colonel Stuffy...”

“Oddly enough, he was the hardest thing to find.” She stepped a bit closer to whisper, “and also the most embarrassing.” 

Starscream threw the bear back on the pillow. “How dare you continue to rifle through my possessions, you, your presumptuous boss, and who knows who else?! Had it not been for the predicament I was put in, I’d have half a mind to raze this place to the ground!”

“Oops, would you look at the time, I'd love to stay and chat more, but I gotta go!” A paper fluttered off toward the ground but was caught in time by a hurried hand. “Binder on the desk with more details, talk some other time!” The last statement was blurted out at a barely comprehensible speed. The door slammed shut, followed by a tiny click of the electronic lock.

Well, he was on his own.

A glance at the mahogany desk revealed that it was indeed hosting a generously sized binder on its surface. He splayed it open and flipped through some of the pages. Some he recognized as the contract he signed, but sizeable portions of it were new. At least he wouldn't long for reading material, but for now he wanted to assess the room better.

Rifling through the desk drawers only uncovered some more papers and writing implements. Giving up on that, he dropped down onto the bed. Surprisingly comfortable, and quite big. The entire room was quite cozy, and much spacier than where he often found himself in. The large window let in the midday sun, dust dancing in its glowing rays. A jarring mood to set for what were essentially paramilitary barracks.

“Then again, given the lofty salary…” he mumbled to himself, fluffing one of the pillows. Very soft. Almost as soft as…

“Oh, how they do try to placate me, Colonel Stuffy…” He spoke to the little bear, still upside down on the plush bed cover. “But I’m sure this room conceals a ruse, a trap of sorts… And I will uncover it.”

The small bear offered no response.

Starscream pointed a finger at a shelf with a lot of his books in it and got up to investigate. Browsing through them, he found some familiar books and papers, but some not. 

“Mixed some things up, did we?” came a chuckle from him as he removed a binder from higher up. The mockery abruptly ended once he saw that it contained his magazines and a few additional correspondences. He groaned, but it wasn’t anything particularly incriminating, or hard to find. They were all in the last apartment he was at.

He abandoned the large shelf, as his browsing of it had revealed nothing suspicious. For now.

On the walls were some pictures and paintings that had fallen into his hands over the years. Of those was his army photograph, the same one from his files he saw a few days ago. It now sat in a small oval frame, which he straightened a bit. 

The walls were, on first look, wood. Polished and stained red, in keeping with the base’s theme. He decided to give the panels a knock.

“Hmm... “ The sound was much more muffled than he anticipated. Lips pursed into a frown, he knocked again. An ear leaned against the wall once more, trying to decipher why that was.

A hand stroked his goatee in thought. “Wood paneling over solid concrete... Fair enough, more safety and quiet on my end...”

He decided to move on to the double folded doors across the desk, most likely a closet. A good place as any to keep looking. His eyes gleamed past all of the clothing items, most of which he owned, of course, and immediately darted to a large dark red leather suitcase tucked on the side.

His eyes narrowed. He recognized that suitcase. After some shuffling between the clothes on top and the shoes at the bottom, he managed to free it. He hauled it up on the bed with a grunt, and pried it open.

“Ah.” His face felt a bit hot. It was indeed... _that_ suitcase.

Starscream had… mixed feelings about this particular possession, or many of them, rather, being here. On the one hand, yes, it was worrisome and embarrassing that his current employers went that deep into his personal items. On the other, he wasn’t exactly keen on the idea of having to look for these on his own. The suitcase being here was somewhat of a boon, but one best left unexamined.

He closed it back. “Yes, well. Maybe this should be under the bed.” No reason the objects inside shouldn’t be within reach. After some industrious shoving, he went back to investigating the clothes.

A fresh change of his current uniform was on a hanger, next to some jackets and shirts he owned. Below were some of his shoes, and a pair of regular sneakers similar to his currently worn heels. He scoffed at them, knowing they wouldn’t see much use.

He moved in further to flip through the clothes. One of his suits was there, blouse and pants and all, in a protective plastic sheet. A few more casual outfits following that, and then a few lighter coats. Finally the rack ended with his thickest winter coat, should he ever need it while in the middle of the desert. 

But there was one garment in particular missing. 

“Wait… If the portraits, the books…” his voice trailed off, going over what was accounted for so far. “If they’re all here…” A hand ran over one of his jackets.

He pinched the bridge of his nose with his other hand. “Montana it is, then…” He mumbled, already dreading the phone calls that will have to be made.

As he shut the closet he turned his attention to the other door. Would it lead to another room, by any chance? He darted over to it and firmly grabbed the knob.

“Ah-ha!” He swung the door open triumphantly.

It was a small bathroom.

He sneered and closed it back. “Convenient.”

It _was_ convenient, he wasn’t going to complain about that. Not the most spacious of facilities, but completely clean, and even had a small shower. And, predictably by now, some of his grooming items by the sink.

He sat back down on the bed and exhaled through his nose, scowling. This was just a regular room. It didn't even have the expected security cameras poking out of the top corners.

No, what was truly of interest wasn’t in his room, and it probably wasn’t in this vast complex he now had to call his daily workplace. Anything truly worth looking at was in what was probably akin to a fortress, impossible to reach by the likes of him. For now, at least.

He wasn’t even that furious at his things being here. If anything, he was almost grateful that they saved him the effort. But he was still a bit angry, on principle. How dare they look through his things.

A gurgling noise from his stomach brought his little adventure to a halt, serving as a sharp reminder that he hadn't eaten anything in several hours.

The bed creaked under him as he rose, “Perhaps a revisit to the kitchen is in order…”

 

\----

 

“Man, d'ya see the look on the Engie's face when his sentry didn't even hit me?” Scout's arms were spread wide open and barely missed hitting a passing Pyro. He flipped the bat he was holding and put it back in his locker.

“I bet that egghead's gonna cry all night in his workshop about it…” 

Demoman adjusted one of the grenades on his armor. “Saw what you tried to pull over there, laddie. Seemed more like dumb luck that it didn't get a good lock on ya and shred you to pieces!"

Scout's threw his hands in the air. “Like it mattered! Their Pyro was waiting for me around that corner anyway.”

A muffled laugh came from the team's own firebug.

“Yeah, yeah, shut up…” Scout teased.

The young runner looked around, puzzled. “Hey, where's Medic?”

Spy croaked, “Why? Are the plutonium isotopes finally having adverse effects?”

“Real funny, Spy.” The young man side eyed him. “I mean, I dunno, real lack of maniacal cackling about the joys of tearing some guy's liver out while he's still alive, I guess.”

“Well, if you must know, he and Heavy are in the infirmary. With our new guests arriving soon, our good Doctor has quite a few things to set up in order to… Welcome them.” He turned the revolver with Scout’s mom lovingly engraved on it.

“Oh, they told ya that?” Scout in turn made his disgust known.

The Frenchman gently put the gun into his locker and closed it. “I overhead them. Maybe you would have too if you stayed quiet for once”

“Pfff, who needs that when I can just ask you?” He shrugged. “Anyway, whatever, I’m heading out for a snack, catch ya losers later.”

Sniper mumbled a few curses as the young man nearly bumped into him.

Scout jogged down the hall. Oh, he wanted a snack all right. With Heavy helping Medic with his affronts against creation in his dove infested operating room, there wasn't anyone to object to him taking a wee little peek in the fridge. And no one else to notice if he just happened to take the sandvich Heavy made before the mission. Anyone could have taken it.

Like some old asshole in Scout's uniform.

Well. For once it actually wasn't him.

The guy briefly noticed Scout and froze into place, caught freshly-recruited-RED handed. He looked to be about forty at the least. He was on the skinny side of things, and his combed back, wavy hair and pointed nose gave him more of an air of an uptight college professor than a mercenary. 

But there were some rough edges to him, and a strange look in his eye. His fingers were weirdly long too, and they were shoving Scout’s sandvich into his shrivelled, giant-eyebrowed face. Scout bet they could still be seen when the dude's head was turned, they were so goddamn big.

Still, the young man tried to open with something nicer than “I was gonna eat that, you fucking prick.” His momma always taught him that first impressions are the most important, and how you should be the bigger man and always keep your cool. Hell yeah, Scout loved being the bigger man.

Now if only he remembered the guy's name.

Scout pointed hesitantly at the new recruit. “You're ah…”

The stranger stared at the younger man, swallowing the morsel he had just bitten off. “I'm not sharing this.” 

Okay, his voice was definitely deeper than what Scout expected. It prompted him to upgrade his impression from ‘uptight college professor’ to ‘second-rate cartoon villain.’

“No, I meant your name. It's uh…”

“I’ve had many names.” He took another small bite and chewed for some time before answering. “But the only one that should concern you is ‘Starscream’.”

“Oh yeah, you.” Scout remembered the profile better now. “Weird name.”

“My pilot callsign, amongst its many other functions,” he stated flatly. The sandvich was finished off with one last bite and a brief dusting of hands.

“Neat, yeah, my name’s Scout, I use it for my job, that I have, right now. Where I’m the best at it.” He flexed for good measure. “I’ll be honest with ya here, I don't expect an old guy like you to keep up with me, and also while you’re in heels-- oh my God, why are you in heels.”

Starscream showed off one of his shoes. “How astute of you to notice...” he remarked, voice low and cold. 

The older man stepped forward, coming so close that their chests almost touched, forcing the younger man to crane his neck up. He looked down to Scout and grinned. “And I can think of a few reasons.”

So close that Scout could still smell the sandvich lingering on his breath. The fact that it still smelled nice was the worst part. Damn, those were some good fucking sandwiches.

“Pssh, whatever man, I'm still the best!” Scout boasted, rising on the tips of his toes, which still made him come up short.

The man's chuckle was low, as if tucked away at the back of his throat. “Is that so?”

Scout guffawed. “Hell yeah I bet can--” 

He was interrupted by two hands grabbing his neck.

“Prove it then.” Pure sadism drew a grin on Starscream's face, his words emphasized by his thumb compressing the younger runner's trachea.

The hell was this guy’s problem, anyway? Not that Scout could process much of what was happening. The old asshole had a pretty good grip on his throat, but his features seceded to a wince as Scout jabbed his nails under his forearm. 

Scout barely managed to rasp something out while gripping at the guy’s hands. “You're… The worst…”

“Hey, we got any drinks here--” From behind his attacker, Scout could see a man in Demoman’s uniform peering in from the adjacent dining room. “Starscream?!”

“Breakdown?!” Starscream stammered, letting go of Scout's neck. Scout coughed out a chuckle, but was ignored by both of the new recruits. “You’re alive? But how--”

The new demoman smiled, rubbing his hand behind his curly head of slightly silvery hair. Despite that, and some stronger set features, he didn’t look a day over thirty.

“I mean, yeah, I escaped, managed to punch my way through. Was way harder without my hammer. And I… Didn’t exactly make it out in one piece.” He pointed to his eyepatch while moving in to rummage the fridge. On the bright side, it saved Scout the question of whether it was just part of the uniform.

“I think we’re out of drinks here. Maybe Engie or Demo got something.” Scout offered. No sense in dwelling on the fact that the guy’s co-worker tried to kill him. He’d deal with that later.

Breakdown chuckled a bit as he opened the vegetable drawer. “Demoman, you mean? Rather not. I met him on the way here. Nice guy and all, but he suggested something that smelled like rubbing alcohol…”

Scout chuckled, “Classic Demoman.”

“Oh hey.” Breakdown fished for something in the door of the fridge. “Lemonade!”

“Don’t drink that!” Came a voice from the hallway. Engineer stumbled across the dining room in a panic.

The new demolitions expert held up a lemonade carton, confused. “Why not?” 

The mercenary ran his hand over his bald head in relief. “Oh thank God, I thought it was… Well, never mind that, reckon you can drink it in peace…” He chuckled amicably and held out a hand. “Thousand pardons. Name’s Dell, but folks here just call me Engineer.”

Breakdown vigorously shook it back. “Well, most people call me Breakdown.” He gestured towards Starscream, who was eyeing both Engineer and the lemonade carton suspiciously. “This is Starscream, a, uh… I guess colleague from work. If you can call it that.”

The older scout extended a limp hand. “Greetings, Engineer.”

“Likewise.” Engineer gave an amicable shake. “And don't worry about that, we don't frown on many jobs here.”

“Try me…” Starscream drawled, still scowling.

Scout knew Engineer, had for a few years by now, and he recognized slips in his usually friendly tone. Always a slight lowering of his brow and tightening of his jaw that gave it away. And Scout noticing that couldn’t have anything to do with the fact that it was he himself that often strained said friendly tone.

“Well I'm sure there'll be plenty of time for stories later…” He turned to the other new guy. “Hey, Breakdown, if you want something between lemonade and turpentine, I reckon I still got a case of Red Shed, along with a little something to eat.” 

The new demoman smiled pleasantly. “Hell yeah, sure.” 

Engineer gestured towards his workshop. “You want something too, Starscream?” 

“Oh, not necessary, I already ate…” He turned to Scout a bit, grinning.

“The only thing you'll be eatin’ is shit…” Scout mumbled. The older mercenary growled at him.

Engineer bit back what was most likely parental scolding aimed at Scout. He settled for a quiet sigh instead. “Right, we’ll just ah…be in the workshop if ya need anything.” He left with Breakdown in tow.

Starscream watched them leave, rolled his eyes and looked back at Scout. “Hmm, yes, I think I’m done here too.”

“Whatever, dude…” Scout had lost interest by now and was searching for something edible in the pantry.

“Have fun scavenging, _Scout,_ I shall be in my-- OH MY GOD, NO.”

Scout rose from the cupboard, not with anything to show for it, sadly. “Yeah, what are ya gonna be in, your own ass-- Oh hey, new Pyro.”

The young man’s words trailed off into a squeak. For a moment, he felt some sympathy for his extremely frustrating colleague. 

The new pyro was massive, even taller than Heavy, his broad shoulders clearing the door frame. Appropriate for his class, he looked absolutely fuming, livid amber eyes burrowing into Starscream’s own terrified gaze.

The towering man cleared the kitchen in two steps, not saying anything until both of his hands were on Starscream's throat. He pressed the smaller man against the counter, a bulky forearm replacing where his hands were on the guy's scrawny neck.

“You tried to have me killed!” He finally spoke, or rather yelled, at Starscream, with an accent Scout couldn’t place.

Starscream wheezed out a nervous laugh, legs desperately kicking under him. “Oh come now, Predaking, you don’t believe those slanderous and completely fabricated rumors, do you?”

“‘Predaking’, huh?” Scout chuckled a bit, hands clasped on the back of his head. “What’s that all about?” 

“Oh by all means, Scout, feel free to ask him!” Starscream choked out.

“Uh, yeah, okay." Scout looked up earnestly at the gigantic, infuriated pyro. "Why is your name ‘Predaking’?”

“Are you serious!?” Starscream retorted much more clearly as Predaking lifted a bit of his weight from him.

Predaking turned to Scout slowly, his snarl fading. “It’s a long story. Mostly happened in prison.”

“Aaaaand that’s all I gotta hear.” Scout held up his hands.

“Wait, really, I thought it was--” Starscream started, before the huge man forced his arm on his throat again, making him gag on his words.

“Silence from you!” Predaking bellowed.

Scout piped up. “Hey, man, look, not that he doesn’t deserve it, but if you do kill him, pretty sure you’ll be fired, and I don’t think you want that.”

Predaking seemed unconvinced.

“Also, he’ll just come back anyway.”

The huge guy glared at a slightly frightened Scout. He finally lifted himself from Starscream’s neck.

“Very well. I have other things to attend to, anyway.” He dragged his arms off the counter briskly, making Starscream fall over. The smaller man scuttled over to the side and gripped the countertop.

Predaking mumbled to himself while opening a cupboard.

Scout shook his head and sighed. “Yeah, we running low on snacks. Tragedy, ain't it?”

Predaking stared at Scout, perplexed. “Snacks are the least of my concerns.” He opened another cupboard. “Tell me, who do I have to talk to for ingredient ordering?”

“Oh! You’re gonna cook? Hey, that’s pretty nice of ya. Though I don’t know much about where we get basic food stuff from… But maybe Ms Pauling could help you with that?” Scout offered.

Predaking nodded and resumed his search.

“Ms Pauling? Ha! As if she would know anything… So unorganized,” sneered Starscream, forgetting he was being choked a minute ago.

“She knows way more than you do, that's for sur-- wait, you met her?” Scout beamed instantly. “Did she talk about me? Yeah, I bet she did, since you’re the new, lamer Scout and all.”

Starscream raised an eyebrow, frowning. “She did vaguely allude to you, but only how I’ve triumphantly matched your speed...” He placed a hand to his chest. “And yes, Scout, I did do it in my current footwear, and I will do it again, many times over.”

The Bostonian stomped over to his new counterpart, waving a finger at him. “Ok, look here, jackass, I haven’t known you for long, but you’re already such a huge asshole and-- hey, I’m talking to you! What are ya looking at?” 

Starscream looked mortified, again, and took a step back, all while peering right over Scout's shoulder. The young man turned around to see what that was about.

The new soldier was there. A stern looking man with a dark ponytail, sharp eyebrows and a generous, slightly cleft chin. He filled the doorframe a lot less than Predaking, but then again most human beings did. Not that he looked like a slouch in the strength department either.

He surveyed the kitchen scene with tired eyes and groaned. “I’m… going to my room.”

“Hey, wait up!” Scout ran toward him. “You’re the new soldier, huh? Name’s Scout!” An eager hand popped out in greeting.

“Dreadwing.” He shook Scout’s hand firmly after slight hesitation.

Scout pointed a thumb back at the kitchen. “So, you know these chumps?”

“Indeed. I have had the misfortune of working with Starscream before.” He thought briefly. “Predaking I admittedly know less of, and as for--” 

“Oh, Dreadwing, you could at least look me in the eye while you say such sweet nothings about me…” Scout looked over his shoulder and saw Starscream leaning on the hallway wall.

Dreadwing gently pushed Scout out of the way and walked over to the other man. Starscream recoiled, his sly leer melting into pure terror.

The bulky soldier breathed in. His eyes shut and he shook his head.

“No. You’ll just come back...” He turned around and headed for the rooms. “Maybe Airachnid will be happier to see you, Starscream.”

The man groaned theatrically. “That _wench_ is here too?”

“Hey, yeah, her… Where is she?” Scout turned over, slicking his hair, choosing to ignore that he just heard someone outside of an old medieval movie using the word “wench”.

Dreadwing looked at Scout with mild puzzlement. “If you must know, she’s in the hangar. She’s having some of her… furniture moved in.”

Scout puffed out his chest. “Well in that case I think a little visit is in order, can’t have her not know what she’s missing.”

The only feedback he heard was another groan from Dreadwing and a low chuckle from Starscream.

While rounding a corner, Scout saw Predaking poking at a much smaller human wearing the same suit as him, save for Predaking’s lack of a gas mask.

The runner slowed down a bit and waved at the two mercenaries, “Hi, Pyro, play nice with the new guys!”

An approving “mmph” came from the kitchen as Scout kept jogging to the hangar. 

Now, true, he didn't really remember the fastest way to the hangar, but that was fine. Gave him more time to think about his charming as all hell one-liners. He had so many good ones, he didn’t even know where to start. Maybe compliment her shooting? Praise the fact that she doesn’t throw jars of piss at people? What a woman...

His beaming came to a stop upon seeing someone in the hallway. 

A lean man in a spy suit, from the looks of it. Only it definitely wasn’t Spy. He was talking with someone else, just out of sight, behind a wall. Scout ducked against his own wall corner and tried to overhear.

“Excellent work, Soundwave. I’ll be joining you in due time.” 

It was the other man, still not visible from where Scout was. 

Goddammit, right at the end of their conversation. Always happens when eavesdropping. Really rude of them.

He heard the other man walk away and immediately reconsidered his plan to barge in on their talk. The guy’s footsteps rang all the way to where Scout currently was. Probably meant he was big enough to not be messed with.

A door slammed shut from where the mysterious man was. The new spy took it as his cue to move on… Right where Scout was.

Eh, he could easily have outrun him and pretended he wasn’t ever even there, but he did want to introduce himself. Plus it’s not like he heard anything important, just the guy’s name. And that’s a good thing to overhear, right?

He popped out of the corner, making a saluting gesture. He cut it a bit close, as Soundwave had to come to an abrupt halt barely a foot in front of him.

Now out of the dimmer lights up ahead, Scout got a better look at the guy. He was only a bit taller than he was, and quite slim, similar to their own Spy. Slicked, black hair framed a face with high cheekbones and a pointed chin. He didn’t wear a mask, but he sure was hard to read. If Scout had to guess, he’d say that he was slightly annoyed at something or other.

Oh yeah, he also had an electronic do-hicky implanted directly into his neck, but hey, Scout wasn't judging.

“So, Soundwave, huh? Nice to meet ya, I’m Scout!” The young man extended a hand in greeting. 

Soundwave didn’t reply. He just… stared at Scout, completely unmoving, save for unsettlingly well timed blinks. And noticing blinking patterns is where Scout drew the line for not-creepy conversations.

The Bostonian rocked on his heels a bit, his outstretched hand retreating. “Ha, all right, real funny... Are you gonna actually say something?”

_“Oh, not necessary...”_ Soundwave replied… without a single twitch of his lips. The audio clip, since that’s what it was, had a slight distortion to it. And sounded familiar.

Scout pointed to the suited man, perplexed. “Hey, wait, that’s what Starscream said, back in the kitchen.”

Soundwave gave a single nod.

“But that means. You were there. When it happened.”

Soundwave nodded again.

Scout stormed away, shoving Soundwave aside. “Fuckin’ Spies…”

Maybe the new spy walked away, maybe he didn't, Scout didn’t care to look back. Anything to get him moving along.

He came across the corner, finally, but the man Soundwave was talking to wasn’t there. There were a few doors on in the hallway, but Scout knew poking around to find him wasn't a great idea. Even from that one sentence he sounded like bad news. He didn’t know why he sounded like that, but he just did. Sometimes you gotta go with your gut.

Loud clattering resonated from across the hall. Yeah, that was the hangar all right. Meant the new sniper was there. Gut feeling, always works. Minus the part where he almost backtracked.

Scout revised his plan as he jogged on over. “Alright Scout, ya got this, just open with something small: the truth, and skip to the parts where you’re the best at everything, help her with her fancy couches or whatever, how hard can it be…”

The young man swung open the large door. Some trucks were there, and some guys were struggling with what looked to be a chair… With horns on it. Big curved ones.

As the chair drew into view, he saw that it was clearly made from a large pelt, and that the chair legs had the hooves of the animal on them.

Alright, a bit strange, he had to admit, but he could accommodate, he had to deal with weirder, right?

And right as he thought that, a head of a wildebeest was escorted out, the rest of its skin arranged in big swirls, all splayed on a large canvas. It was carried near some other trophies. A lot of big game heads, and even some fullbody ones, and more of the strange furniture.

Scout tried his best not to judge, he really did, but there was something about these pieces that didn't sit well at all. So much meticulous care put into something that looked to be both too alive and too dead at the same time…

The metal platform creaked a bit below his steps. He heard one of the moving crew swear at something, or someone. Chances are no one even saw him. That was good, he thought, he could see her without her seeing him, at first at least. Not that he was scared or anything.

“Be careful, that one's irreplaceable.” That was her voice, coming from behind the truck. She sounded detached, but still pressing. He moved to get a closer look, still on the platform, ducking slightly.

She was in the sniper uniform, as expected, but that was about the only comforting thing about her. From the side he could see purple eyeshadow on her lids and gold filament in her raised braided hair. An impeccably manicured hand came to her chin as she surveyed the moving crew astutely, her deep purple lips drawn in a sly smile.

The young man felt his palms getting sweaty. He took a step back. She was beautiful, that was for sure, but it was the kind of beauty only attainable by certain sets of highly venomous arachnids, or very poisonous frogs.

Wait, “arachnids”, “Airachnid”... Was her name a pun? That was a bit of a lead, maybe she had a sense of humor after all.

The woman's gaze lifted, and made direct eye contact with Scout. She was still smiling.

Scout jogged to the door on instinct.

More furniture clattering came from the hangar. None of his business.

Hands in pockets, defeated, Scout decided to go to his room and read a comic book or something. So far all the new recruits he met were either creeps or disastrously short on conversation. Or both.

“The infirmary should be just up ahead, since we just passed the hangar…”

Scout beamed, he definitely knew that voice.

“Good, this coat could use some dusting… Such a lovely shade of off-white, _ruined._ ”

He didn’t know that one though.

The assistant replied to the man, sounding patient as ever. “You’ve only had that for a few hours… But I guess your commitment to the dress code is admirable?” 

“Well, I’m certainly used to being admirable…” crooned a reply.

Scout huffed under his breath. What kind of stuck-up asshole did upper management dig up now? Spy was already a chore to deal with, then his own new counterpart, and now whoever this new medic was? Jesus… He had to take a look now, he had to see what kind of ugly mug this dude was compensating for.

He caught up with them right up ahead, although their backs were turned to him. Miss Pauling was there with her clipboard, as usual. And yeah, he guessed it, the guy was the new medic.

“Hey, Miss Pauling!” the Bostonian called out.

They both turned around.

“Um, yeah, hey there, Scout, a bit busy now. You know, making sure nine other mercenaries make it here in one piece?” The assistant gestured towards the new medic, and that was when Scout made the mistake of looking at him.

Oh, not because he turned out to be even uglier than Scout hoped. No, the first qualifier that came to mind for this man was “unfair”. 

It was absolutely, positively unfair how perfect his… everything was. This guy had a face that would put any heartthrob movie star to shame. Everything about it looked smooth and inviting, as if his features were sculpted by one of those dead renaissance dudes. It was the last thing Scout expected and it left him wide eyed and breathless.

He was staring for too long, wasn’t he?

The man chuckled a bit. “Like what you see?”

“What?! I just… PFFFT-- nah, I just didn’t expect our new medic to be so…” He inhaled sharply. “Short.”

An eyebrow went up, his lids falling over his dark, warm eyes-- dammit, Scout, focus.

“Is he always like this?” The new medic turned to the assistant. 

“Yeah, he is.” Thankfully she was busily pouring over her clipboard, and had barely noticed the conversation, and, more importantly, Scout’s behaviour. It gave the young man enough time to at least try to compose himself.

The Bostonian shook his head slightly. “Hey, sorry, man. I’m Scout, pleased to meet ya.”

A latex-clad hand gripped back. “Name’s Knockout.” His expression had softened back into a somewhat sardonic and entirely appealing grin.

“So, new medic, huh?” Scout was almost back to normal again, and not a moment too soon. Maybe he should have been the one to drink some of Demoman’s scrumpy, to forget all of this. Or just die, that was an option too.

“As you can see.” He gestured to himself. “Or am I too short for that?”

“Oh man, uh, look, I’m sorry, and no, you’re fine. I mean yeah, our Medic’s a bit taller…” 

Knockout crossed his arms, still grinning, but his brow was furrowed slightly. 

“But not by much!” Scout blurted out, doing more back pedalling than that time with his bike and the angry possum. “And it ain't like it's a job requirement or anything.”

“Oh hey, speaking of which, we should really get going to the infirmary!” Ms Pauling interjected, pushing Knockout along with her.

Holy shit, he completely forgot that this poor guy would have to eventually see and even talk to, well, Medic. Scout felt an urge to delay that moment for as much as he could, and why he felt that way was best left in the realm of general courtesy, absolutely positively nothing more. It was Medic they were talking about, after all. The guy was still a huge weirdo on the best of days.

“You can’t talk to him!” Scout blurted out. “I mean, uh, he’s busy! Setting up a thing. In his lab, or operating room, whatever. Not that he doesn’t want to meet ya, but not right now. Is all.” 

Knockout shrugged. “Alright.”

Ms Pauling took Scout aside, but they were both still in earshot of the new doctor.

“Wait, he is?” she asked.

“Yeah, Spy told me, and he heard Heavy is in there too.”

She looked at some of her notes, combing one of her stray hairs back. “Well, I’m glad they’re getting ready, saves me some work, heh, for once.”

She studied her schedule, biting her lip, and came to an epiphany. Scout was probably smiling like a goddamn idiot, but he was genuinely happy at her having whatever free time she could get.

“Oh hey, Scout, could you do me a really big favor, actually? Can you show Knockout to his room and then the infirmary? I got some last minute things I have to take care of and I can’t do it myself.” 

The young man looked back at the new medic. He was making a show of looking at the notices pinned up on a corkboard, but he definitely snuck some peeks back to them.

Scout nodded eagerly. “Yeah.. yeah, sure, no problem!”

“Alright, Scout, see you a bit later!” And with that, she was off, leaving him to give a little good-bye wave she didn't see.

Knockout came back from reading the posters. “Who’s Saxton Hale?”

Scout wrinkled his nose and waved a hand. “No one important.” 

“Well, since the infirmary is unavailable, I guess I’ll have to wait in my room.” The new medic sighed melodramatically.

Before Scout could say something as profoundly disastrous as “I could keep you company”, a sharp yell resounded in the hallway. 

Starscream had his uses after all.

Knockout burst out laughing. “Oh, he’s here too?”

Scout's eyebrow went up. “You know him?”

“It’s a very distinct scream, yes. And I’ve been privy to it quite a few times…” Damn, his voice was nice too. Had a very comforting timbre to it, despite it often backing up noticeable amounts of preening.

“Yeah, well, he’s... “ Scout dragged a hand across his face and mumbled. “He’s your team’s scout…”

“We can handle him.” He gave Scout a wink. “Honestly, my pity is more for you. You’ll have to supervise his training, no?”

The young man sighed. Yeah, that was a thing he had to do now. “Ehhh, worry more about yourself…”

“What do you mean?” The man’s lovely features were now contorted with mild concern. It gave the runner pause, but he steeled himself.

Scout sighed. “You’ll see…”

Knockout merely hummed and quickened his walk.

“What’s the rush?” Scout jogged up next to him. Quite easy, but the new medic was still decent at keeping pace. 

“I’m the medic, aren’t I? If he gets hurt I have to be there.” His tone suggested that he wanted to be anywhere but there.

“I mean he could just shoot himself and come back, save both of you medics the work…” The young runner joked.

Black boots skidded on the wooden flooring as the medic came to a stop. “Wait, really?”

Scout also slowed down and turned back. “Yeah, man, respawn machine. Does what it says on the tin.”

Knockout blinked quickly. “Damn.”

“Buuuut, we do get to see him get his ass kicked!” The young man smiled back mischievously. 

“That much is true… Race you there!” He immediately held Scout back with a hand. “Hmm, on second thought, no, you’ll win, and where’s the fun in that?” He shot back a smug glance.

Time for Scout to give the unamused glare. He laughed afterwards though. The new medic was a bit of a boaster, but he wasn’t too bad. He found himself looking the man over as he jogged ahead, despite his paltry efforts to do the exact opposite of that.

Yup. Not too bad at all.

The yell had come from the kitchen, which they reached after some guesswork about which way one particular corridor led.

Well, there was the remainder of the new team; a pissed-off engineer and a huge, real scary looking heavy. The latter acknowledged their presence by shifting his glance at them, but then he went back to observing what was apparently a fight between the new engineer and Starscream.

“M… Megatron.” Knockout stammered, backing away a bit. Scout couldn’t really blame him.

“Oh, hello Knockout!” Starscream rasped out. He even waved.

Some slight malevolence tinged Knockout's ensuing chuckle. “Hello, Starscream. Glad to see you’re doing as fine as ever.”

Scout had stopped just short of the living room. He tentatively approached a very cross Sniper laying on the couch. 

Scout bent over the backrest. “The fuck’s going on?”

“Hell if I know!” Sniper whispered hoarsely. “I just come in, just barely said hi, don’t even have time to turn on the telly, when the new engineer walks in and their scout starts yelling bloody murder!”

Scout wondered if the marksman had gotten better acquainted with Starscream.

Sniper turned over and mumbled. “Fucking deserves what’s coming to him, if you ask me.”

Yup, he did.

“Come now Shockwave, let’s not do anything too brash!” Squeaked out Starscream, backed up against a wall. At this point, Scout suspected that the guy's only purpose on this earth was making like a billion enemies.

Damn, the guy holding him down looked scary. Robot arm wasn’t enough, huh? Had to go and strap a gun to his left elbow? Alright, sure, one more weird asshole to the pile. He also had a really spooky robot eye, but to be fair, if Scout lost one of his eyes, he’d definitely have it replaced with a robot eye. The injury underneath looked to have been pretty bad though, the scar reaching up to his hairline on one end and across his nose on the other.

Starscream whimpered. “Megatron, surely you don’t believe what he’s saying?!”

A tense pause filled the air. A slight rustle came from the couch, even Sniper was stirring.

“I’m thinking,” came the only sinister reply from the new heavy. 

It was the same voice Scout heard in the hallway. Not messing with him was definitely a good call.

“You left me there to die.” Shockwave threw Starscream against the wall once more, voice devoid of emotion.

Scout looked over to Knockout. Oddly enough, he looked almost… Content with what was happening, gleeful even. Great, this guy was probably a blood psychopath as well. Scout kept his distance. 

Starscream stammered. “It wasn’t only me, we all thought you were dead!”

Megatron chuckled. All eyes were on him.

“Did we now?”

That was all it took for the engineer to ready his gun.

“Megatron, please!” whimpered Starscream, almost managing to sound worthy of existing.

Shockwave’s face drew even nearer and he pressed his gun to Starscream’s forehead. Scout heard a muffled click and--

“Enough!” came a roaring voice from behind them all.

Their own Heavy had caught wind of the commotion. His huge finger pointed at the fight. “Tell him to stand down.”

The new heavy came closer, side-stepping the altercation entirely. He came up at about arm’s length to the Russian, whatever “arm’s length” would even mean to these giants.

Heavy looked like he was having none of it, his face pinched into a scowl. Megatron himself didn’t look too happy either. Scout readied himself for something to go down.

Then Megatron laughed, and now that he was closer to the man, Scout could see: his teeth were sharpened. Because of course they were. He did wonder if that’s how he got the gruesome looking scars across his mouth.

“I have no desire to see this escalate more than you do.” He was smirking an awful lot for a guy who didn’t want to see what were probably his underlings shoot each other in the head. Then again, since one of those guys was Starscream, maybe he had a point there.

He turned around. “Shockwave, unhand him. I’m sure there will be plenty of better occasions to… Work this out.”

Shockwave looked into his captive’s terrified eyes.

“Very well.” He let go of the man’s shirt. 

Starscream almost collapsed to a lump on the ground. “Oh thank you, kind and magnanimous Megatron!”

Kind and magnanimous Megatron only offered a snarl in response, to which Starscream cowered back. Jesus, it was like watching animals fight.

Heavy, still standing in the hallway entrance, pinched the bridge of his nose. “Yes, Medic also says he is ready to see you all. Wait outside infirmary. No need to take number, you go in class order.”

Megatron surveyed all of his mercs gathered there. “You heard him. Go!” He thrust a finger towards the narrower hallway.

Starscream and Knockout immediately made themselves scarce. Shockwave took his time, however, and was followed by an equally nonchalant Megatron.

When the new recruits were all gone, Heavy let out a sigh and shook his head. “I do not like this.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” Sniper said, by now half-sitting on the couch. “You reckon they’re gonna keep this whole thing up?”

“I mean, maybe not, they might get tired. Or scared out of it?” Scout said.

“That’s what visiting Doktor is for.” Scout could have sworn he saw the big guy grinning as he turned around to go to his room.

It was hard not to smile as well. Yeah, Medic will fix them up all right. That’s what he hoped at least. He looked down at Sniper, wondering if he would share the enthusiasm, but he had his hat drawn over his eyes. Scout rolled his eyes and let him be, and headed for his own room.

Just as he opened his door, he saw Soldier coming in from where the kitchen was.

The overly patriotic American grinned. “What did I miss?”

 

\---

 

All of the new mercenaries were gathered in the infirmary, but not much of a conversation was happening. Knockout heard Dreadwing resume his report, steadfast model of loyalty that he was. It was about as interesting as watching paint dry, so he gave up listening to it about a minute in, choosing instead to pay attention to the infirmary. 

Suspicious clattering came from the mysterious room, something big and metallic, from the sound of it. He wondered what the man behind the proverbial hospital curtain was like. The only things Knockout, and everyone else on his team, knew so far was that Medic was busy setting up the respawn implant procedure, and that he had the same uniform as him.

The sign above the large doors bathed everything near them in an eerie red light. Something about not seeing much of the man so far made Knockout anxious. But if some of his teammates were anything to go by, he was most likely a bit eccentric, but otherwise harmless.

Either way, spending more time worrying about it would only make him jumpier. He looked back towards his own teammates.

“It cannot be mere coincidence. She knows we used to work together and that’s why we were hired.” Dreadwing stated, drumming a finger on his knee, turned towards Starscream. The scout groaned, most likely having raised an objection beforehand. How unusual for him.

Breakdown shrugged while pouting a bit. “Maybe it was just easier to get people who knew each other, since they’ll work as a team or something?”

Airachnid leered, a demure hand poised to her side. “And she picked us?”

Knockout scoffed, barely more than a breath. But she was right, and he hated when she was right. Their violent persuasions and dubious backgrounds often kept them from finding work in polite society, and he was no exception. Which reminded him, he still had that bump on his front bender to fix.

His foot tapped in the air. “You’re not exactly a team player yourself, Airachnid.”

“Do I need to be?” She bared her perfect fangs underneath plum lips. He rolled his eyes.

Dreadwing narrowed his glance at her, hands clenched into fists. “We all need to be.”

“What, are we supposed to just… Kill them all, take their stuff and get out?” Breakdown suggested with the casualness of choosing which movie to watch at a cinema. The medic smiled, but not without a tiny twinge of guilt when recalling Scout's earlier flustered behaviour.

Oh well, he had to snuff out far more amicable people in the past. Knockout examined his nails, the fact that he was wearing gloves be damned. “I suppose a good skirmish will liven things up.”

“Nine against nine. We are evenly matched.” Shockwave droned. 

Starscream leered, edging away from his seat ever so slightly. “Evenly matched, Shockwave? The poor blaggards won’t suspect a thing. They stand no chance if we strike at night...”

While the medic would describe most interactions with his teammates about as pleasant as hovering his hand over several bear traps, he couldn’t help but join in on the whispered plottings. They only got in a few seconds worth, before being swiftly interrupted.

“Enough.”

The room went silent.

Megatron surveyed the waiting area, his burning stare at each of the mercenaries a threat to stay in line. Knockout tore his eyes away, looking at the tiled floor and clearing his throat.

“Perhaps some things weren't clear. So let this serve as a warning; any plot to seriously wound or kill anyone in this base will be met with immediate and swift punishment.”

No one dared to object, an unspoken compliance to Megatron’s order.

“After all, I’m sure we can discuss what this wonderful facility has to offer us under…better circumstances.” He glanced up at a corner of the room, where a security camera was mounted, its single red light staring back.

Shifty glances were aimed at the device, and Knockout sincerely hoped there wasn’t one in his room. Not that he did anything worth keeping tabs on in there, it was just objectively creepy and very rude.

“So… What do we do?” Starscream asked, most likely fishing for a scrap of permission to smother at least one person in their sleep by the end of the day.

Megatron raised an eyebrow. “For now, Starscream? We simply wait. And, as much as it pains us all, we do as we’re told.”

“I could ask about the functioning of the respawn mechanism.” Shockwave mechanically turned towards Knockout. “It would also fall under the medical profession.”

The medic sneered. Shockwave was never one for subtlety, and his sparse attempts at it were always aimed to aggravate his interlocutor. “I suppose I could ask, if I deign to remember.”

Predaking spoke, startling a few of them. “Will they not suspect that we are planning something?”

Megatron placed a hand to his chest, in fake hurt. “Now, Predaking… Who said we were? All we’re doing is getting better acquainted with our surroundings, and our new coworkers. Nothing more.”

The even bigger man only narrowed his eyes and growled, prompting Megatron to grin slightly, showing off a peek of his serrated teeth.

He delivered his next words after a carefully calculated pause. “We will have to proceed by other means. With tact, poise and subtlety.”

The infirmary doors swung open with a loud clang.

Medic stood between them.

His smile was drawn far too wide. Blood soaked his hands up to the elbows, fingers slipping slightly on the doors, leaving smeared, dripping trails behind. Manic steel blue eyes looked over the new recruits with horrid glee. They completed the portrait of what could be charitably called a serial butcher, the above sign’s red glow not helping in that matter.

“Hello, Kamerads!” He finally spoke.

Knockout could feel himself getting paler, and his teammates were none too pleased themselves. Starscream was just about to make a run for it, but Medic was faster, snapping his head towards him and grabbing his hand, lifting the man to his feet.

"You must be Herr Starscream!" He shook the other man's hand vigorously, sounding excited, strident, and very, very German. Starscream was frozen stiff as Medic hovered far too close to him, sizing him up for God knows what purpose, deranged grin still plastered across his face. "Welcome! I am sure we will have much to talk about!"

The scout whimpered, too afraid to have noticed his shirt and handwraps getting stained red. "Y-yes, well, see, there must be a mistake! Surely we were supposed to go in alphabetical order?!"

Knockout could have turned around to see Airachnid's reaction, but he opted not to after hearing her chuckle.

“Do not worry, mein Herr…” he pulled the trembling scout even closer to him, voice now much lower and sinister, made all the more frightening by his perpetual smiling, "...there was no mistake."

With a few more vocal protests, Starscream was shoved into the infirmary, followed closely by Medic. Most of the new recruits still eyed the door, in general apprehension.

Knockout coughed. “At least…he’s enthusiastic?”

Just as he said that, a yelp was heard, followed by a shrill laugh and the reply of “Don’t worry, only half of those organs will be in you!”

Every in the waiting room looked back to Knockout. He closed his eyes and sighed.

Maybe the electric chair was the lighter sentence after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  
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> [](https://imgur.com/IrWq88p)  
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> medic went elbow deep in the strawberry jam again, smh 


	3. Base Still Standing And It's Only Been A Few Days

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oof, late, so laaaaaaate... how do people do this whole "regular writing output" thing??? y'all are gods. i promise i made it up to you guys by adding more gay.

_He ran. Gunshots and explosions echoed in the distance. He didn't care, it was all behind him. It would all be behind him. Forever._

_He grasped at a palm leaf blocking his path and lost his balance as he tried to toss it aside.._

_The ground was wet, it always was here. Always swallowed his steps whole, like a ravenous snake. He didn’t like it, he didn’t like any of this. He wanted to be back home._

_He heard footsteps up ahead. They drew nearer._

_Get up, he thought. Get up and keep running. They will kill you. They all will._

 

Dreadwing blinked, vision blurred from the uneasy dream. He sighed in relief, this was one of the tamer ones.

Lying on the bed, he rubbed his eyes and stared at the ceiling. A small vent was there, one of many keeping the base at a comfortable temperature. He turned around, restless.

Small clay pots with various succulent and fern clippings dotted the windowsill and a few larger ones sat on his desk, all displaying healthy and vibrant shades of green. They were all brought in by him, he thought with affection, watching their leaves reach out to the morning sun. They offered him some stability, an anchoring point to focus back on, and he always relished the simple actions of tending to them.

Thankfully, the memory of the nightmare wore quicker than he could normally count on. Amongst the most unusual things about his new job, he never would have imagined one of those being the sheer comfort of his room. Fresh, fluffed, clean linens, the likes of which he'd only experienced scant times in his life. He wrapped himself in the plush blanket, taking in its crisp scent.

He rested a hand on his chest. Despite yesterday's... appointment with Medic, he felt absolutely nothing out of order. Still, whether or not the luxury and conditional immortality justified accepting this job would still have to be seen.

One hope he had was to get to know his own compatriot better. A soldier as well, and older than him. Dreadwing was sure he'd find some semblance of common ground and shared experiences.

But he also didn't hold onto it that much. Many of what he could call past friendships came to a gruesome end, or at least festered into current animosity. He'd have to steel himself for failure, he thought with a tragically familiar apathy.

A bugle sounded just outside his room, a very bad fit for his still tense nerves. Dreadwing stared at the door, furious. He swiftly put on some pants and marched out.

Scant groans and curses came from both teams, but the only ones out in the hallway were Soldier and Demoman, the latter barely dressed, rubbing his eye, and berating his colleague.

"What in the blazes are you thinking?!" Demoman chided, sounding about as loud as Soldier's preceding trumpet blast.

Soldier himself seemed completely oblivious, grinning ear to ear. "Whipping these sorry sacks into shape! They're about to face the horrors of war, Demoman, and they'll be ready for it, thanks to me!"

Dreadwing was about to speak, but was interrupted by his next door neighbor, still enclosed behind it. "Soldier, the only horror of war you'll experience is me breaking your arms!"

"That's the spirit, son!" Soldier cheered back at Starscream's room. A frown formed on Dreadwing’s face, feeling his earlier doubts being confirmed more than he’d anticipated.

Demoman took his colleague closer once he noticed Dreadwing. "What's the point of them being up and ready for battle if you go and wake them up at the crack of dawn?!"

Soldier was still smiling blithely. "It's alright, Demo, I wouldn't expect any of you to keep up with this old war dog's ways!"

Before either of the men could refute any of Soldier's brilliant arguments, a doorknob to one of the rooms rattled and the door swung open.

Dreadwing stepped back, nearly leaning on the wall. Demoman himself also reconsidered whatever he was about to shout at his teammate. The man stepped forward, pace slow but imposing.

"'Soldier', is it?" Megatron asked. He didn't sound angry, or irritated, but Dreadwing knew that meant nothing.

"Sir, yes, sir!" The man gave an exaggerated salute, complete with a clack of his heels and the stupidest smile Dreadwing ever saw on another human being.

Megatron eyebrow twitched up.

"Soldier… May I strongly suggest…" He placed a hand on the smaller man's shoulder, pulling him closer. Dreadwing could see the leader's knuckles whitening from the tight grip.

"... That you never do that again."

Soldier's grin remained, and he was still triumphantly holding onto his trumpet. Megatron kept staring at him, his normally serious facade starting to crack.

Demoman dared to inch closer to the heavy, leaning in to whisper. "Tell… tell him it's an order."

Megatron acknowledged Demoman's suggestion with a brief aside glare before turning back to the man he was confronting. "That's an order."

Soldier stared at the floor, seemingly deep in thought, then nodded. "Okay. I won't do it again."

It was an answer good enough to warrant the hand being removed from his shoulder.

"I'm glad we could come to an agreement…" The larger man smiled, speaking the words through a clenched jaw.

"Indeed!" Soldier smiled, lifting his trumpet far too close to his face. "I will play a bolstering war tune to celebrate!"

Megatron snarled and reeled back a punch, but was interrupted by Predaking peeking in the hallway, wearing a pink apron over his jumpsuit.

"Breakfast is ready."

 

\---

 

"Are they all still in the kitchen?"

Sniper looked at the hallway. "Most likely, but if you wanna catch them all in one spot, better get to it. I reckon they don't keep each other's company for long."

Spy frowned. He really didn't want to be saddled as the new team's tour guide, but Ms Pauling's hellish schedule and his own curious nature made for a potent cocktail, one he couldn't avoid if he tried.

"So I've heard… But perhaps you would be so kind as to keep my company?" He gestured towards the dining room, putting on an extremely charming smile.

Sniper shrugged. "Sure."

They both walked the few steps, and Spy heard Sniper mumbling something along the lines of "If something goes tits up, you owe me…" but he paid the marksman no heed. 

He had a brand new crop of mercenaries to survey.

First thing to hit him was, surprisingly, the smell. Among the troublesome rumors he heard from his own teammates, the new pyro being a gifted cook was one of the few exceptional good points, and something even the BLUs couldn't compete with. The lingering smell of a very good omelette wafted through the air, and made Spy regret that he missed it.

Or at least only in part. While the dining room had all the set pieces of a pleasant breakfast, the ones seated at the table gave him no airs of comfort. Barely any discussions were taking place, replaced instead by shifty glances, crossed arms, and the only smiles drawn were those of smug, ill intent.

“Ahem.”

The sound of chair legs sliding on the floor and some groans were heard as the new mercs resumed their seating at the table, except for the scout, who was behind the counter and opted to stay there, shooting Spy a sour stare.

Despite all of this, Spy decided to keep to politeness.

“My apologies to all of you for not letting you ruminate on your fine breakfast… My compliments to the chef, by the way. I’ll try my best to not miss the next one.”

Predaking gave a respectful nod of his head, with a gentle closing of his eyes. 

“But I must keep you all here for a bit longer to discuss some matters, especially pertaining to your first mission.”

At least they looked interested in what he was about to say. But while he appreciated professionalism from hired killers, he still wasn’t comfortable. Perhaps there was something to be said for his own teammates' loud cheery boisterings around the dinner table.

"You will be facing another team of new recruits, and while they are inexperienced as well, they were also selected for the same skill sets you possess.”

Before he could begin his next sentence, he was interrupted by their heavy.

“Wouldn't it be useful to know who exactly we are fighting against?” 

Spy surveyed the man. Large, robust and intimidating, as expected. But any mercenary worth their salt knew that heavies weren’t just selected for their brute strength.

“That would be good to know, indeed… But I’m afraid I do not possess such information.” Spy said. "It will be as much of a revelation to you as it will be to me."

A brazen lie right out of the gate. An excellent start.

If only it wasn't undercut by the man turning his attention towards Sniper, leaning on the wall.

"And I suppose he doesn't know anything either?" He grinned through serrated teeth, Spy noticed. He drew a breath from his cigarette, awaiting Sniper's answer.

"He doesn't," stated the Australian, not even looking up from under his hat. How mysterious and dashing of him. It forced Spy to hold back a smirk.

The heavy's grin faded as he leaned back in his chair, with the piercing glare of a man who could plainly see through their lies.

The Frenchman rode on Sniper's discontent nevertheless. "Oh please, we wouldn't have a reason to hide information from you anyway. If anything, I am here to tell you the ultimate goal of every one of these matches..."

Spy brought his hands together in a gesture resembling a clasped prayer.

"Working as a team."

The answers he got were an even split of groans and eye rolls. Yes, a completely even split; their own spy didn't react at all. Either way, it was music to his ears.

"Any other third-grade-level wisdoms, or are we free to go now?" their very handsome doctor quipped.

Spy took a drag from his cigarette, eyeing the man down. Quite handsome indeed, but he'd seen others like him before. "Now, now, I also come with much more palatable knowledge, so I'm afraid you will have to stay after recess for longer."

The doctor rolled his eyes, breaking the even ratio.

"First, the schedules for the training room. I hear that Ms Pauling had no time to go into this in depth, but in short, you can schedule your own times on the board right outside the room itself. Go to any of us for questions, and then go to Engineer when that proves to be a futile endeavour."

No interruptions yet.

"As for the missions' goals, they are broadly divided into three categories: pushing a payload, area control, and capturing intelligence. Elaborating on this would be far too time consuming for now, so I suggest you acquaint yourselves with the training reels on those subjects. They can all be found in the projection room.”

He only paused to take a drag from his cigarette. “The best way to learn is on the job, of course.”

"Do these tasks serve any deeper purpose?" Their engineer asked.

"The deepening of your pockets should be enough."

The new recruits loved to put on airs of detachment and power, but Spy caught a few stray confused gazes, desperately trying to fish at something more.

"Oh, don't worry, there's some more… typical jobs that will be offered in between. But if I have to tell you how to do those sort of things, then you're in the wrong place."

An indignant sound came from behind the counter. "Are we even in the right place to begin with?"

Spy wasn't the type of man to defend his employers, not for free at least, but something about their scout's demeanor made him want to push his buttons. “I’m terribly sorry… Are you not content with our fine establishment? Did the chambermaid forget to put a little candy piece on your pillow?”

A good portion of the mercs laughed, including a chuckle from his Sniper.

The scout, who went by the moniker of Starscream, as Spy recalled, growled his disapproval. “What good is the use of an immortality engine if we’re just going to shoot the same people all day? Do you not realize its true potential?”

“As far as any of us are concerned, _mon ami..._ Its only true potential is keeping us alive, well paid and off the grid.” 

The man huffed and moved to the edge of the counter, coming into full view. “We might as well go back to being prisoners, then! Your merry band of buffoons might be fine with complacency under this employ, but we have bigger ambitions!”

A wall of exhaled smoke came up between both of the men as the distance was closed. And as the new recruit came into full view, it was a small miracle that Spy didn't choke on his own breath.

Spy had a witty comeback. He knew he did, he could always conjure up something biting and clever in the heat of the moment. But it didn’t come to him. No, he noticed something else about the man, something that could only be noticed once he stepped into full view. Spy could feel the tense silence, and saw Starscream’s anger transforming into confused impatience. 

He had to say something, anything.

“What… Are you in heels?!” Spy tried to sound more aggravated than flustered, he really did, but some laughs still came from the less dour mercenaries at the table.

Starscream raised an eyebrow and looked down to his own feet, still frowning. “It seems I am.”

Spy wondered what kind of man would be... _brazen_ enough to wear high heels to a battlefield. The kind of man who would look good in them, he thought, as his sight lingered a bit too long on Starscream's legs.

"Eyes up here." The man crooned. More laughs from the table.

"But… how will you manage to run in them?!" was the only response Spy could muster while gesturing at the man.

The scout carried a hand to his chin, deep in fake thought. "A very good question. Personally, I start with staying healthy..."

It was far too late when Spy realized that he was too close to Starscream, allowing him to easily pluck out the cigarette from his lips and crush it under the ball of his striking footwear.

"... and not smoking helps."

Chuckles and whisperings resounded throughout the dining area. To say that this really wasn’t how Spy wanted the stiff mood to be lifted would be an understatement. The Frenchman kept the other man's stare. He'd have to get underhanded with him.

Starscream's grin was wiped from his face once Spy clasped the dog tags in his fist, tugging on them. He unclenched his hand and examined what was etched on the small steel plaques.

Spy's eyebrow went up quizzically. "Catholic?"

The man gave a low chuckle. "In name only…"

"Is that all, Spy?" Megatron interjected, ceasing what little whispers and laughs were happening. "Or do you have other very pertinent remarks to make about my men?"

Starscream's grin had returned. A smug and conniving one that furrowed his eyebrows and made his eyes glint in the worst of ways.

The dog tags were unhanded, with a motion too gentle for Starscream to deserve. "No, I think I've exhausted all my points."

Spy walked towards the door frame, and turned to face his audience once more. "Best of luck to all of you on your training. Good day."

Sniper, who was still leaning on the wall throughout this whole debacle, joined him upon exiting. He chuckled. "That went well…"

Spy sighed, yanking his cigarette case out of his pocket, holding a fresh one in between clamped teeth. “Yes, it seems I am both the expert of espionage, and also putting my foot in my mouth.”

The Australian laughed. “Maybe it'll go down better if it was a high heel?”

"Shut up," mumbled Spy while he lit a match, feeling a nascent heat on his cheeks from more than just the newly flickering flame.

 

\-------

 

"Now the _other_ needle gauges should be in this cupboard! If not I think I have some in my desk drawer, but any number higher than 14 you'll have to order in--"

Knockout smiled and nodded at Medic's instructions and anecdotes. He certainly was an…interesting man.

There was a lot to take in at once, for starters. The near-magical healing gun, the strange shelved experiments, the doves perched all about the place... Granted, most of the people the younger doctor had the displeasure of working with went to great deals to shield themselves with lies and overly serious frowns. If anything, Medic’s earnesty and passion should have been refreshing. 

But the old adage does say that there can be too much of a good thing.

Whenever Knockout asked for clarification on the contents of a strange jar, or the utility of a vicious looking tool, the other man would give the most gruesome answer dressed in the sweetest of tones, as if he asked if he could borrow a cup of sugar instead of why he kept a shrivelled severed foot by the window.

A drawer was pulled open, its contents rattling within as he no doubt got distracted by them. "Oh, dear me, I need new scalpel blades!"

Yes, Medic was something else...

And it wasn’t the fact that he had two-headed cow fetuses in a jar that was off-putting, Knockout had seen plenty of those in his time. No, it was Medic’s sheer _glee_ at those possessions, clinical and scientific pride completely replaced with too big a smile, far more graphical descriptions than was demanded by even their shared job’s standards and the inadequate lighting fixtures that illuminated it all.

But it wasn’t like Knockout had the cleanest of pasts, either. A laughable assumption to make if there ever was one. He wasn't that convinced he should be the one making calls on what was appropriate behavior.

If only that was all that that troubled the younger doctor…

“Medic? Pardon me, but…”

“Not that you'll ever _need_ the transfusion-- Ja, what is it?” Medic asked, clasping his hands together, smiling earnestly.

“Where…”

Knockout’s question was on the tip of his tongue, but through a combination of terror and pity, he switched it to something else.

“...Is the ibuprofen kept?”

Medic became a bit concerned, but soon Knockout realised his tone was mocking. “Oh dear, do you need some? Well, either way, second cabinet from the wall, and if not, fifth one should have some too… I think, heh.”

Knockout laughed, nervous. Given the knot in his stomach, he should have asked for an antacid instead. “No, I don’t need any, for now, but it’s good to know where it is. Quite a basic thing that needs to be handed out.”

The German went back to his usual happy tone. “Oh, ja, I agree, head wounds can be quite debilitating!”

In a strange way, it was nice that Medic seemed completely oblivious to failed attempts at small talk. Or if he was aware, he at least didn’t show it. Perhaps he did know, and always made mental notes to himself.

Knockout shook his head slightly. Just because his own teammates were horrible connivers didn’t mean Medic was like them. The man was smart and terrifying, but he seemed to genuinely enjoy his profession, his doves, his experiments, his own teammates' company…

But still. Something needed to be addressed.

“Medic?…”

“Yes?” He had moved next to his medigun now, strapped above the operating table. He was probably raving about the device, rightfully so, admittedly.

“Are you…” Knockout started. Medic tilted his head slightly.

A memory of the paycheck being handed through the prison bars flashed through the new doctor's mind.

“... going to write down our next practice schedule or should I do it?”

The man let out a light laugh. “Any time is suitable! You can tell me what our slot is after you find one.”

He turned around to point at some more cabinets.

There was also the not insignificant matter of Medic getting angry. Knockout didn't want to think about that, but he could imagine what awaited him. And it would be a near certain fate too. He found out in his short time here that, despite his age, Medic was not exactly a pushover. Where was Breakdown when he needed him?

Yet this went beyond that, beyond Knockout’s own paycheck and freedom and safety, for once. And if nothing else, it would be a fight to remember.

A glint caught his eye. The bonesaw was laid out on one of the gurneys. He gingerly picked it up and hid it behind him. 

Medic’s back was still turned. The only advantage Knockout had was the element of surprise.

“Medic…”

Only a hum came from the man this time. Knockout took a deep breath.

“Are you a nazi?”

Knockout didn’t even register how he sounded when he said those words. He was sure the high pitched squeak came from something else. All he was focused on was Medic.

The man stood still. He shut the doors to a cabinet he had opened.

“Ah. So that was it, then.”

He did know. He did pick up on Knockout’s hesitation. The younger medic felt his jaw clench and his hand tightened on the bonesaw, still hiding it from view. Why did he even have to ask? The only time in his entire life he decided to be brave and heroic and he’d have nothing to show for it except ending up as a stray body part for creepy pigeons to peck at.

Medic chuckled. His voice had taken a chilling, low, serious tone. “I cannot blame you for asking. I give that impression, and the dates certainly line up, hmm?”

The steel grip felt very, very cold.

"To answer your question as directly as it should be answered… No. I am not, have never been, and do not plan on abiding by those wretched principles they dared to call science, progress, love of the nation..."

A tense silence filled the air as Medic’s words trailed off. It carried with it a solemn weight, and the other doctor took it as a sign to not press further.

He let out his held breath, relieved. "T-that's certainly good to hear... Uh, sorry for asking, had to make sure, after all…"

"Well, you have my word that I'm not." Medic's accompanying smile was unusually warm and understated, made with nearly closed eyes. It faded with a subtle exhale through his nose, and he eyed something to the side.

He pointed at one of the massive shelves that delineated the lab. "They, on the other hand, are."

Once again Knockout's heart leapt in his chest and he wondered just what trap Medic had managed to catch him in. But there was absolutely nothing amiss. He took a better look at where exactly the other man was pointing, and followed along to a neat row of skulls lining the middle rack. 

"Or were, rather."

Knockout put two and two together. He laughed, still nervous. "Past colleagues of yours?"

Medic raised an unamused eyebrow. "Hmm, yes, if you can call them that. I was in the army with them, some were my commanders, and, well, let's just say I never had the stomach for 'just following orders.'..."

Superior officers at that… Knockout grinned. He expected the shallowest of answers at best and got something much greater instead.

"Ha ha, can you imagine?! I go into their stupid war only to do the exact opposite of what they expected from me!" Medic got close to the skull rack by now, and seemed to be talking to them.

The younger doctor chuckled along too, but mostly because of his compatriot's pronunciation of "stupid".

“Oh, Hans…” The older doctor crooned, raising one of the skulls by the chin with his index finger, palm pointed up. “If only you weren’t such an exemplary member of the party.” 

Knockout laughed while shaking his head. An interesting sense of humor, to be sure, but one he was guilty of sharing in similar circumstances.

Medic chuckled a bit and lowered the skull back in its place. “I admit I am surprised you asked me this so directly, Herr Knockout.”

His laugh was more nervous now. “Well, it, needed to be cleared up, what can I say?”

“Fair enough…" He turned back towards the other doctor. "You can unhand the bonesaw now.” Medic’s smile returned to its usual overly-friendly stretch, once again illuminated by the eerie fluorescent fixtures above.

Knockout looked back at the tool in his hand, and gingerly put it back on the shelf, grinning sheepishly.

He’ll never do anything this stupid ever again.

 

\-----------

 

The gyroscope sent out beautiful beams of light on the wooden desk as it spun on itself.

Engineer knew he was just stalling for time. The din outside of his room signaled that breakfast was ready, and he had to grab something to eat, just like all the others. But that was just the problem; said others had really been grinding his gears for these past three days.

The new mercenaries all had their varying degrees of malevolent eccentricities, but Shockwave in particular got to him. The new engineer was…tiresome. Tiresome in the worst way possible, and Engineer didn’t like to think it, he really didn’t like passing judgement on folks. But Shockwave was just too serious, to the point of concern. Sure, half the new team did look like they never cracked a smile once in their entire lives, but at least Engineer didn’t have to deal with them as often.

Backhanded insult, he thought, as he gave the little toy another carefully aligned spin.

His own team... He got off to a rough start with a lot of them too. Maybe this new team just needed a chance, and his own counterpart just needed to open up more. Engineer wasn’t asking for much, just the tiniest hint at an emotion would do. And even if nothing would come of it, at least he could try to convince him to stay out of trouble.

The gyroscope started to wobble and tipped over. Well, it’s not like anything was gonna get done with him moping about cloistered in his room. He picked up the little device and placed it on a shelf, where it gleamed in the morning sun. 

Upon crossing the hallway where everyone's rooms were, he damn near had a heart attack when he saw Spy slinking out of a room with the scout emblem on it. But then he remembered that the new recruits were there and breathed a sigh of relief.

Spy tried to turn back, but he was close enough that Engineer could catch him in conversation.

"Good mornin' Spy… Care to tell me what you were doing in a room at the exact opposite ends of yours?"

The man looked mortified at first. He recovered once he took a quick drag of a fresh cigarette, one eyebrow raised.

"Starscream, mostly."

Engineer hummed to himself in slight disapproval. "Yeah, I don't know what answer I was expecting…” He crossed his arms and mumbled. “And I suppose it's one of the only things they’re good for."

Spy almost looked worried, which made him regret his remark instantly. "Labourer, such harsh words… You mean to tell me you didn't enjoy standing in the sun for hours while their new doctor accused me of scratching his car?"

Engineer damn near forgot about that. 

“Dear God Almighty, it could have been anything out here that caused the nick… And all that complaining, you’d think he was married to that damn thing.”

Another inhale of smoke was taken. “An interesting accusation coming from you.”

Engineer stammered despite himself. “Now look here, Spy, those machines of mine make sure we all stay alive. And you sure as hell do way worse to them than chip their paint job!”

“True…” Spy snaked an arm around Engineer’s shoulders. “Which is why I appreciate you covering for me! Ruining a vehicle that looks exactly like mine was oddly cathartic.”

Engineer stumbled back and snarled. “You lying sack of--”

“Engineer, please, I was only joking.” The Frenchman flinched a bit.

The man sighed. “I can’t really tell with you.”

Spy joined in with a small sigh of his own. “I know you’ve chosen to bear the brunt of this ordeal, compulsive placater that you are. So may I suggest you perhaps take it a bit easier on yourself.”

Engineer scoffed. “What, you want me to sleep with 'em?”

Spy shrugged. “Whatever makes them better in your eyes.” He shot a glance back at Starscream’s room, squinting at it. “And some need all the help they can get...”

Engineer rubbed the back of his head. “Look, thanks for your uhh, advice, but I gotta go eat and head out to training. See ya’.”

Spy’s lip twitched into a grin. “Good luck, labourer. And oh, do let me know if you solve things with Knockout…”

More crass innuendos. Not that Engineer was above such activities, but they weren’t Spy’s business. Usually. “Yeah, you’ll be the first to know…”

“I mean it.” The final drag of the cigarette was taken, devilish grin now replaced with an austere stare.

Engineer opened his mouth, about to speak. What he interpreted as a sincere reply caught him off guard. He gave a nod and headed to the dining room.

 

“Now, the sentry does need ammo refills, but you shouldn’t worry too much about that, it don’t take much to fill it, even at level three...”

Engineer gestured over the blueprints as well as the sentry itself, throwing himself completely into his newfound teacher role.

Shockwave had proven himself to be very receptive, and that much was promising. No objections, no rude interruptions, no strange comments, only the occasional very relevant question.

It creeped Engineer out.

An obvious comparison someone could throw at him was their own Pyro. While the RED team had settled into a dynamic he'd describe as friendly on a good day, Pyro still remained a bit of an outcast among outcasts.

But Engineer always saw something in Pyro. He saw passion and happiness, and no matter how misdirected it could be, Engineer took it upon himself to cultivate that sense of wonder, and he'd say he succeeded. Pyro still got the short end of the stick on nervous side glances, even from Medic, but they had diminished over the years.

Shockwave was nothing of the sort. If anything, he seemed more like the kind of man he'd have to protect Pyro from.

Engineer scolded himself. This was just his own first impressions getting to him. Plus, the man looked like he had been through hell, what with his burnt face and missing hand. That would ruin anyone's outlook on life, Engineer guessed. And dammit, Shockwave hadn't done anything out of the ordinary so far, by this job's standards, and maintaining this base in one piece was the real only concern.

That, and discussing the viable operating range of a dispenser.

"It's about five feet in my experience. Any more than that and you barely feel it, and no ammo ends up in anyone's hands. Or guns, rather, heh."

Not a single reaction from Shockwave. The guy wasn't even taking down notes.

“Right, uh… I think that covers it for the buildings. How about you try setting them up yourself?” Engineer gestured over to a delineated spot on the ground.

The man took the toolbox by its handle with his good hand. Engineer immediately felt some sympathy, but he didn't quite know how to broach the subject. Still, anything that could get some conversation out of the stern man had to be worth something.

"Say, that there gun ain't getting in your way, I hope?"

"What do you mean?" The safety on Shockwave's attached weapon twitched, but otherwise remained locked.

Engineer allowed himself a bit of pride. Smiling, he stepped over to where the man was. "What I mean is I can build you a hand you can use just like a regular one, if you want."

Shockwave managed to look even more sour, if that was even possible. "With all due respect, I don't think you could offer what I need."

The Texan chuckled. He didn't blame the man for being skeptical. He got to the business of removing his glove and decapping the cover, revealing the machinery underneath.

"I think I could, if given the chance." He gave the mechanical fingers a few flexes, the clicking of the joints satisfying as ever.

Shockwave's brows loosened and his mouth uncurled ever so slightly. It looked like the first emotion to ever grace his face in decades.

"It is impressive… But I'm afraid I must still decline." As soon as those words were spoken, the characteristic frown returned.

The prosthetic was hidden back with a small click, and the glove went over it. "No problem. The offer stands either way."

Engineer was a bit confused by what the man meant by his refusal. But he wasn't offended, and he wasn't gonna press further.

Shockwave called his work impressive, and that was a start.

 

\-----------

 

2:36 AM

Demoman groaned at the hands on the clock.

For something so vast and desolate, the desert really liked being noisy at night. All manner of creatures were chirping and screaming at each other in the wee hours of the night. It made it hard to try to go back to sleep. But he wasn't too sure the sounds of the wilderness were to blame for him waking up in the first place.

He turned over in his bed. He tried to think.

Whatever brought on this bout of insomnia, he doubted the new additions to the RED team were the cause of it. Yes, some of them were completely insufferable cads, but Demoman found them more entertaining than anything else. He remembered Heavy in particular voicing concerns. Demoman reminded him that they were all hand picked from death row, and that any step out of line would mean more than just a contract termination. The Russian wasn’t entirely placated, but Demoman still held it as blatant fact.

Maybe it was his own counterpart, since he was the one he spent the most time with. A sensible conclusion… Except they had gotten along quite well. Breakdown was a bit of a handful, but he could still be reasoned with. He had less sawdust for brains than Soldier, that much was certain, and Demoman knew how to handle the overly patriotic American best out of everyone in the base. So it was the simplest logical thread that Breakdown wasn't the issue here.

Also, him being so restless had been going on for a few weeks, it couldn’t be them. Unless he was psychic, but he ruled that out as a possibility years ago. 

He couldn't even keep his eye shut. Maybe he should skip to finding a solution instead.

Drinking to fall asleep was right out. Not really for any pragmatic reasons, like avoiding hangovers or Spy’s mocking taunts, but mostly because it didn’t work, and when it did, he found out it was to the point where respawn kicked in. Beyond the fact that it just put him back at square one, it had gnawed at his mind that he took it that far. Not that he’d ever tell anyone.

Asking for Medic's help wasn't much of an option either. He didn't want to concern the doctor with something so trite, especially not this late, and with their regular mission schedule resuming in the morning. The new doctor was under even more pressure, so that was also off the table. He really should have rummaged in the infirmary for some sleeping pills of sorts while both doctors were out at the training room, he thought bitterly.

Either way, Demoman was hungry now, and that was only going to keep him awake even longer.

By the time he got over the task of putting on a shirt and pants, the clock was approaching three. His scowl turned into a hiss as his feet made contact with the cold wood below. Even after some years of working here, he forgot just how much the air conditioning could overcompensate during the blistering summer months.

He made his way to the kitchen, not bothering to muffle himself, but not deliberately causing a racket either. He’d be in and out quickly anyway, he only wanted something small to eat. Any larger meal would just worsen his restless state.

A small smile tugged at the man’s face as he perused items of actual worth in the fridge. Various sizeable leftovers dotted the racks, offering delicious helpings for just such an occasion. Predaking had well earned his keep, that hill Demoman would die on a million times over.

Shame that said meals would have to be heated and plated. He didn't want to leave dirty dishes to sit overnight, so he settled on a bit of cheese and fresh bread from the pantry. He grabbed a knife and cut into the sturdy block. Even the most mundane ingredients saw an upgrade, he hadn't had parmesan this good in quite some time.

A floorboard creaked in the hallway just as he enjoyed his first slice.

"Who's there?" He asked, mouth full.

No answer. Whoever that was, he could hear their footsteps quicken, nearing the dormitories. Demoman sprinted towards the light switch and flicked it on, trying to catch them.

The figure stumbled back a bit, blinded by the full light. It was the new sniper, Airachnid.

Of all the new mercs, she was the one he saw the least of. She barely appeared to him in person, and made herself known more by the whispers his teammates passed around. Scout especially had nothing good to say about her, which seemed to be his recurring opinion about women who didn’t talk to him. 

That being said, he did admit he didn’t see anything positive about her sneaking around the base at three in the morning in full uniform, spare bullets and all.

"If you're looking for a snack, it's not that way." He chuckled.

She eyed him as if he suggested she go leap in a dumpster. “I’m not hungry.”

As she was turning around to head for her room, Demoman ran a bit to catch up to her, trying to make conversation. “That’s fine, I guess I was just wondering if everything’s been going alright?”

For one second she looked confused, but she drew her lips in a small and strange smile. “It’s all to my liking, yes...”

"That's good to hear! Sniper…" He hesitated, and he could feel his mouth dropping into a frown. "Sniper hasn't been giving you any trouble?"

The strange smile still hadn’t left her. "He hasn't, no. And I especially appreciate the part where he doesn't try talking to me outside of training hours."

Demoman knew her snide remark was aimed at him, but he kept going. "Yeah, not talking, that's his specialty all right…"

“Good for him, then.” She was getting impatient, arms partially crossed, now sneering. “Is that all?”

The Scostman shook his head. “Y- yes, sorry. Good night.”

Airachnid rolled her eyes and casually strolled to the dormitories. A door closed in the near distance. Satisfied with that much, he flicked the light off.

Demoman leaned over the counter, head bent down, letting out a very long, very growling sigh. He wasn’t hungry all of a sudden. The cheese and bread was packed up and he headed back to his own room.

His head was swimming with memories he’d tried to drown, with alcohol and other unsavory means. How Sniper never forgave him for what Demoman said while they were in Australia. It was all bottled up until they returned to this base, and erupted into an argument that resulted in bloodshed. They both tried to talk to each other like they had before, but the curtness of their exchanges spoke of wounds beyond the physical.

He closed his eyes, trying to forget how empty his bed felt.

 

\----------

 

**_MISSION BEGINS IN 60 SECONDS._ **

His subordinates all looked above them, their conversations interrupted. They recognized the woman’s voice.

Megatron didn’t react. Her voice only served to remind him of how trapped, how helpless he was. But he wouldn’t give her the pleasure of a reaction, he knew she was watching.

He cracked one of his shoulders. The hefty minigun’s weight could not be understated, even for him, but he could manage it. He could even operate it with a single hand, if it came to that.

A glance to the side was risked. Predaking noticed his leader’s readjustment. He didn’t do much besides going back staring at the gate, but the heavy knew better.

Megatron narrowed his eyes, also starring forward. He couldn’t show weakness. To show any was to admit defeat. It would be especially foolish since he wasn’t defeated. No, this was merely another stepping stone. He’d have enough money and then he could finally escape this confined predicament, far before his contract would end.

But for now, he’d have to wait.

**_MISSION BEGINS IN 30 SECONDS._ **

Something was amiss.

Megatron turned around. Knockout’s medigun was focused on Breakdown, and they were both laughing at a joke the demolitions expert had just finished telling, nudging Knockout slightly.

“Knockout!” their leader bellowed, startling more than just the doctor.

The smaller man yelped. “Sorry, sir.”

The healing beam was once again trained on Megatron. He inhaled, eyes closed. Such power… Some scant positives were to be had from this job, and he might as well relish in them.

Breakdown coughed. He inched closer to whoever was next to him. “So, who do you think we’re fighting?”

Starscream was the one who answered. “Does it matter? We’ll slaughter them before we even see their faces.”

**_MISSION BEGINS IN 10 SECONDS._ **

Megatron could feel all of them looking at him. They were awaiting commands.

“You heard him, kill anyone who stands in our way.”

**_FIVE…_ **

**_FOUR..._ **

**_THREE..._ **

**_TWO..._ **

**_ONE!_ **

The gates slid open. A siren blared in the distance. His team rushed forward to meet their hapless victims, their footsteps stirring the auburn desert sand below.

One of the enemies had already almost cleared a small hill. The opposing team’s heavy, he could already tell. A tall man, strong looking, short dark hair… Kind blue eyes…

Megatron’s pace grinded to a halt.

He immediately swung his hand to his side. Starscream crashed into it. He snarled at first, but went silent as soon as he looked ahead, hiding behind Megatron.

“Hold your fire!” Megatron shouted, voice not as booming as it should have been. His team complied nonetheless. Only a dozen feet separated both teams, but none of them moved, too shocked to carry out the company’s orders.

Megatron’s heart pounded in his chest, and his eyes hadn’t left the new heavy at all.

He spoke his name, barely above a breath.

"Optimus?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok, y'all made it this far (that or you randomly scrolled down, but either way, thanks for the consideration, and i hope you have a great day <3) i think it's only fair that i reward my readers with an EXTREMELY HOT nsfw drawing...............
> 
> [ ](https://imgur.com/oBdnHKh)  
> 
> 
> ok but seriously, here's starscream looking kinda charming if you squint but in a super sleazy way because he's starscream
> 
>   
>  [](https://imgur.com/jkAEFIJ)   
>    
> 
> 
> is he going to murder someone? checking out some ass? plot twist: _it's both._


	4. Ill Met By Midday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm maybe getting better at this whole writing thing? damn, big news if true... 
> 
> have some more Drama, as promised.

Silence crept over the battlefield. For several agonizing seconds, no one made a move. They had all recognized each other, years of fighting ablaze in their minds and freezing them in their tracks.

Optimus finally spoke. "Megatron? What are you doing h--"

The RED heavy cut him off. "I was just about to ask you the same question."

More silence. Optimus was clearly deep in thought, but confused, looking at Ratchet like an oblivious child would.

"I… I wish I knew." He finally said.

The answer wasn't good enough for Megatron, who was getting progressively angrier as the seconds ticked away.

The BLU heavy dropped his gigantic gun, its muzzle dipping down and away from the RED attackers.

“Megatron, I know we’ve… Had our disagreements in the past. But we don’t have to fight.” He extended his free hand out, inviting the leader to join him.

The RED heavy lowered his own minigun, but kept it clenched in his fist. “Always the dreamer, weren’t you, Optimus?” Despite his peaceful motion, Megatron let out his usual insincere chuckle.

Starscream shifted back and forth a bit. He wondered if Megatron noticed, since his free hand was now positioned behind him, completely hidden from the opposing team. It briefly signaled to wait, and was brought back in front of him as part of a gesture accompanying his monologue.

“But you are correct... After all of this, we managed to find ourselves in a similar predicament.” He looked around, at the wooden warehouses and the canyon gulfs. A few of the BLUs tried to follow what he was looking at, but snapped their eyes and their weapons back on the terrifying leader. Only Optimus kept his gun resting at his side.

“Humor me, Optimus. What would you have us do?”

Optimus looked to some of his gathered subordinates, whispering something to his team’s sniper. She nodded in agreement, lowering her rifle, still eyeing everyone on the opposing team with great suspicion. Starscream returned Arcee’s frigid glare with a devious smile.

The BLU soldier interrupted, turning towards Optimus. “Sir, with all due respect, we are under surveillance…” Ultra Magnus looked at the REDs gathered before him and inched closer to his leader to finish his sentence. Starscream tried to step closer to listen in.

His attempt was dashed by Cliffjumper raising his flamethrower. “Nuh-uh, stay put.”

The RED scout growled, but complied. Megatron’s stare burrowed into him as he slinked off behind his superior.

Optimus gave his answer. “I’m not going to pretend that both of us are here under ideal circumstances. But if we worked together, we could escape all of this, build something new, like we always wanted.”

A small smile formed on the BLU leader’s face. It was barely noticeable, but of an earnesty and of a hope so radiant that it could thaw the coldest of hearts.

Megatron raised an unamused eyebrow. “I suppose that could be an option…” Starscream once again noticed his leader’s hand being ever so slightly hidden. It pointed to Starscream himself, and then to where the enemy stood, unaware.

“... if you hadn’t already ruined everything.”

A dash forward and three successive shots of the scattergun was all it took for Starscream to dispose of Cliffjumper.

What followed was chaos. With Megatron’s succinct refusal of Optimus’ truce, both sides instantly turned on each other, with the RED team having a slight advantage of surprise. Their scout knew he’d be a priority target after his first kill. He ducked away from the battle, into a nearby building, a bit of shrapnel from a stray explosion embedding itself in his calf.

He winced in pain. The broken plastic casing had drawn a bit of blood. It would hurt his ability to reach top speed, but it was manageable. He dared a look outside. Maybe he could reach the locker in respawn, a consideration that was immediately dashed by the sound of a minigun revving up. He didn’t stay to confirm to which of the heavies it belonged to.

The buildings they were fighting over... fighting in? Both? Whatever, they were strangely flimsy looking, is what he thought of them. There were traces of concrete walls here and there, but so far they were all barren warehouses, some even resembling farm storage units. He was certain his employers didn’t want him to think about all of these particularities, but he’d be damned if he was going to be some mindless pawn in this ridiculous war.

Still, he had to give some illusion that he cared about the mission. The few training reels he deigned to watch talked about something called a control point; a large glowing metal disk he in particular had to stand on until it changed colors. How fulfilling.

Just as he wondered how he was ever going to find it, he came face to face with a sign labelled CONTROL POINT, with an arrow indicating direction.

“What is this, a movie theatre?!” He said, indignant.

“Yeah, this whole place is weird, isn’t it?” Smokescreen rubbed his chin, deep in thought.

“Honestly, what kind of fools do they take us for-- wait a minute.” Starscream turned towards the intruder.

It took a concerning amount of time for the BLU spy to catch on to things. His eyes widened, remembering why he was here. “Ha, oops, right, the whole sneaky thing…”

Starcream pointed his gun right at his chest. “Indeed.”

The young spy weaved to the side, drawing out his own gun. His bullet grazed Starscream’s shoulder, to which he retaliated by emptying his clip and managing to get a bit of buckshot into Smokescreen. The time it took for Starscream to reload offered a loathsome opportunity for Smokescreen to taunt him.

“Ooh, you got me, good job!” He held a thumb up and winked while clutching his side. He was cornered against a canyon wall, in what looked to be a larger mining tunnel.

Starscream pointed his gun at Smokescreen. The little upstart had the gall to speak again, while dialing a knob on his wristwatch. “But I gotta leave now!"

He vanished into the wall just as Starscream fired a shot.

Starscream stood there, blinking in confusion. He frantically rubbed the wall, trying to find a fake cover of sorts, but it was completely solid. The trick came from Smokescreen himself, then.

Starscream considered waiting for him to come back out, but staying here would only mean that Smokescreen would either get suffocated and respawn anyway, or move further deep into the mine and escape. He decided to retreat, remembering to not turn his back on the wall where the spy had sunk into.

The relative silence meant that Starscream had gotten further away from the fighting. It also meant that his own team was struggling to maintain their initial push. Useless fools.

His boasting to himself was further swelled when he saw the control point. It emitted a glow above itself, displaying the BLU team’s ensign… for now.

As he tried to get nearer, he heard someone approaching.

“Bulkhead! Did you get the teleporter running?”

It was Ratchet. Starscream listened in on them, while still staying out of harm's way. He hid behind a wooden wall, a few feet away from the enemy engineer.

“Yeah, I did, you ran past it, it’s near the respawn entrance.” Bulkhead said.

A familiar huff was heard. “How did I miss it… Thank you, good luck.”

"Ratchet, wait"

The medic's footsteps stooped. "What is it?"

Bulkhead stammered. "Uh…"

A tense pause, greatly needed for whenever anything even remotely resembling a thought passed through Bulkhead’s mind.

"Out with it, Bulkhead, I have to join the others." Ratchet said.

Starscream growled softly, sharing the enemy doctor’s impatience.

Bulkhead’s question was timid, unbefitting his oafish stature.

"How's… How's respawn?" He finally said.

"Oh.”

It was Ratchet's turn to be interminably speechless.

“Well it's… bearable, I suppose."

The doctor spoke gently, barely audible over the distant battlefield din. "You'll be fine, Bulkhead. And if not, I'll be there to help."

"Thanks Ratchet. Be careful out there."

"Yes, you too." Ratchet said while leaving.

Starscream rolled his eyes. Such revolting sentimentality.

Only a thin wooden wall separated him from the beeps of what he vaguely knew to be a sentry, along with Bulkhead whistling to himself now that he was alone.

Starscream revealed himself, but without emerging from his hide. "You wonder what respawning feels like, Bulkhead? I'd be happy to give you your first taste, as I did with Cliffjumper…"

"Starscream! Show yourself!"

"And get carved up by your turret? No thank you. If you want to kill me you'll have to do so face to face…"

"And you're gonna have to get on this point! I'm not going anywhere." Bulkhead cocked his shotgun for emphasis.

Starscream snarled. The big brute didn’t fall for his challenge. To make matters worse, there was no clear escape path available to him. As soon as he ducked out from the wall, the sentry would get him. But he had to escape before another of Bulkhead's teammates respawned.

"Hmm, yes, as tempting as the offer is, I'll have to decline…" He sprinted away, firing a farewell shot at Bulkhead's face.

The BLU engineer’s pained cries didn't keep Starscream satisfied for long. Yet more explosive shrapnel flew into him, digging itself into his back. An infernal stream of bullets then poured from the sentry gun, ripping open his ribcage, and making him collapse into a pool of his own blood.

He reopened his eyes as one would awake from a dreamless sleep. He was back in the starting area.

Starscream looked at his hands, his chest, his legs… All of the wounds were gone. The pain of being riddled with that much gun fire was indescribable, and yet, the feeling of emerging from it completely unscathed was nothing short of poetic.

Starscream grinned. This was going to be interesting.

\--

Megatron wasn’t happy.

The first match hadn’t gone well. Their team didn’t even manage to hold down the first control point, barely being able to leave their respawn area.

Starscream found it peculiar that Megatron was lenient on him. He guessed that him obtaining the first kill placated their leader, as well as him getting the farthest out of everyone on his team. Of course he had embellished his exploits slightly when questioned, but Megatron didn’t need to know the details, no one did.

Despite that, he avoided the large man as best as he could. The less Megatron saw of him, the more easily he could hide whatever mistakes he made. Not that he made any, of course. Just in case.

He had tasted respawn many times. Such a satisfying feeling, but one he was abusing a bit too much. It was Bumblebee in particular that had made him catch a glimpse of the great beyond one too many times. The older scout would have to put together a plan to generously thank his counterpart for the repeated visits.

Starscream kept close to the giant canyon walls, trying not to draw attention to himself. If he could get past the BLU defenses, he could catch Bumblebee on a trip back. A bit of a tangential tactic, but he had to get revenge somehow.

He glanced at the control point behind him. It sat on an elevated wooden platform, at about eight feet, with only a few crates and tires piled up to help with access. No one but him could get to it easily, once again proving the vitality of his role.

His team would just have to wait.

Some more mine shafts lied ahead, perfect for an ambush. He picked the one to the left and ran in.

An armor clad figure slid into view from a corner to greet him. Definitely not the one he was ready for, but one he was all too familiar with.

"Battle's the other way, Starscream."

Starscream growled. "Yes, Wheeljack, I am aware… Now, out of my way if you know what's good for you."

“Come on, what’s the rush?” The enemy demoman lifted up his bomb launcher, but didn't point it at the scout.

“You sure you don’t want to stay for the fireworks?”

The last thing Starscream saw was Wheeljack winking and several blinding explosions coming from the ceiling.

“A minor setback, and nothing more...” Starscream grumbled while appearing back in the starting area.

“If I had a dime for every time you said that, Starscream.” Knockout crooned right next to him, having popped in not but a second earlier. He darted away as soon as he laid out his snide remark.

Starscream caught up to him. “Knockout, wait! I need you to accompany me on my mission.”

“Are you out of your mind?! Megatron already wants to kill me for dying so many times today!” He paused and pressed a finger to his lower lip. “Hmm. That’s a sentence I just said…”

“Megatron? Ha! Whoever put him in charge is even more incompetent than he is. Follow me instead.” Starscream drew nearer, keeping his voice low.

Knockout laughed. “Oh, what, you want to give the orders? I think this is the first time you’ve spoken to anyone on the team since we started fighting!”

“So now it’s my fault that you idiots don’t have my skills for infiltration and cunning.”

The doctor grinned. “Those same skills that made you respawn just now, Starscream?”

Starscream stammered.

Knockout pivoted on his heel. “Anyway, I really should be going now. Mustn't leave His Great Incompetence alone for long. Ciao!” He gave a curt little finger wave as he dashed off.

The scout kicked up some of the orange dust into a stir. The sooner he’d fill Bumblebee with rounds of his own buckshot, the better.

One of the problems with that was Bumblebee being very eager to throw himself right into the thick of battle. If Starscream did want to surprise the younger scout, he’d have to stick to his original plan, that of catching him right out of respawn. Thankfully, the mining tunnels were empty this time, and Starscream wove through them without interruption.

He kept to the walls, since he wasn't there for any other members of the BLU team. No sense in attracting any unwanted attention. Again.

This part of the battlefield was a bit more sturdy. He had to navigate through less flimsy wooden walls and a few more solid, concrete ones. Almost made him feel like he was fighting for something of worth.

His decision to hide was a good one. Both Optimus and Ratchet ran by to rejoin the rest of their team, thankfully without seeing the scout lurking in the battlements. It also meant that they died at some point. About time that his own team did something useful.

After barely a minute of waiting, he saw Bumblebee scurrying over. Starscream was ready for him. He'd have to intercept him significantly to get him to stay put, and neither of his guns would be enough for that.

The younger scout was greeted with a metal bat to the head. His run came to crawling stagger as he clutched at his temples. A few mechanical chirps came from his voice modulator.

Starscream kneeled, using the bloodied bat to prop himself up, his face sporting a contemptuous leer. "Lovely to greet you in earnest as well, Bumblebee."

Some more beeping from the prosthetic. Starscream couldn't see it or the younger man's mouth beyond the yellow scarf he was wearing. Not that he needed to, since the BLU scout's eyes radiated an anger and pain that Starscream was ecstatic to have caused.

"Sadly, I'm afraid I'll have to cut this reunion short." He pointed his pistol at the downed scout. "The pleasure was all mine."

A single shot to the head ended Bumblebee's pathetic writhing.

Starscream chuckled to himself as he reloaded his gun. That took care of it. Maybe he could even stick around, keep Bumblebee in his place some more.

A bullet hit the ground right at his feet, making him squawk and stumble back, dropping his pistol. On the ground where the rifle shot landed, a blue glowing dot materialized, and ended up at his chest.

His eyes followed it, the rest of him careful not to move too much. It connected to one of the rooftops, where he saw Arcee, now pulling back the bolt and inserting a new bullet into the chamber. He had to squint, as she was standing against the sun. How clever of her.

Despite lying on the ground, barely being propped up by his elbows, he offered her a grin. "Arcee… Come to join us at last?"

"If I see you ever again it'll be too soon." She spoke through clenched teeth.

He chuckled, trying to make a grab for his handgun. "You're too kind..."

The blue dot was taken off his chest, briefly catching the scout's eye.

"I know."

With a crack of the rifle, he was once again sent back to respawn.

\--

Another defeat, again without a single point captured.

If Megatron was unhappy before, he was absolutely fuming now. And unlike last time, he had Starscream where he couldn't escape, right before battle, during the setup phase.

"If I see you anywhere else than actively trying to capture a point, I will make sure you get expelled from the team! Are we clear, Starscream!?"

Starscream tried to swallow. He managed to wheeze out a reply. "Perfectly clear, Megatron."

"Good."

The scout breathed again as Megatron let go of his neck. He slowly got up, back turned to the rest of his team.

"As for the rest of you… Triple your efforts to slay the BLU team and capture the objectives, and you may also avoid the same fate."

The new RED recruits looked about as pleased as Megatron himself, but no one dared to offer any rebuttals. The leader gave a snappy side nod to Knockout, signaling the smaller man to stay at his heel like a frightened dog.

No matter. Starscream read the contract. Whether or not any of them actually captured the point or pushed the cart or made their beds was not grounds for termination. As long as it looked like he was doing something, he'd still be alive and well paid, as Spy said.

Yes... If he was here, it was to put bullets in the heads of his enemies, not waste his time over some pointless objective. What was he supposed to do, resist the urge to kill these pests over and over again? It was like a dream come true.

The steel doors opened once again, and Starscream waited. No sense in getting killed right out of the literal gate, that’s what his teammates were for.

He once again deftly wove through the incoming blasts and bullets and went ahead, past the first control point. The surrounding buildings were even larger and stronger now. It meant they could actually be hiding something of interest, and he had to investigate further before anyone else did.

Some stairs took him to a small room inside one of the buildings. Electronic beeping could be heard from within, but they weren't coming from those dreadful sentries. Starscream had found a computer room.

He grinned at first, but then mumbled to himself as he leaned close to them.

"Even if these tapes do hold relevant information, how am I going to get them out of here? Or obtain the equipment necessary to read them?"

The tapes, with whatever was encoded on them, kept spinning along their tracks. Just looking at them made Starscream angry. He took his scattergun and shot at the one in front of him, for his own sake. The band was severed and now uselessly flapped around on the spool.

"Should have kept it indoors if you didn't want this to happen." He chambered a new round and headed back down the stairs.

He decided to make for another building, perhaps waiting for some poor idiots from the BLU team to surprise. However, seeing the last control point, of all things, made him go back outside.

Rather, what made him stop was the thing above the steel disk. He was naught forty feet away from what was either a space-faring rocket, or a ballistic missile.

Starscream's eyes widened. He had gotten tantalizingly close to such engines before, but never like this. This company did have some substantial objects to hide after all.

The things that could be done with such a weapon, Starscream thought. The price some would pay for it…

But it wasn't his. The rocket was sitting there like some cardboard prop in a school play, and the company owners were the foolish children who orchestrated it all. He grumbled to himself and fell back into the buildings, preparing to kill some more BLUs.

 

\--------

 

"Is pitiful."

Heavy's grasp of a language strange to him was undoubtedly limited. This made his chosen words blunt and concise in ways that few native speakers of English could ever dream of.

The projector kept on rolling the footage, drowning the assembled mercs in its bright glow. Spy dipped his cigarette in a nearby ashtray. "It might be… Salvageable."

"By firing them all." Heavy said, a stern frown deeply engraved on his face.

Some of the mercs were late for this little performance review, Spy knew this. But he absolutely wasn't prepared for a strident hyena-like cackle to resound only a few inches behind him.

"Is this what passes for point defence now?!" Medic slapped Heavy's shoulder, who had barely reacted to the other man's sudden presence.

_"Docteur,_ please, announce yourself…" Spy mumbled, still clutching his chest.

The German merely leaned closer to him. "A taste of your own medicine, _Spion…"_

Spy pouted. "Hmph."

"Speaking of, what do you make of… What’s his name, ‘Soundwave’? Or was that the other one..." Demoman leaned over his seat to point at the screen, undercut by Medic passing in front of the projector to sit next to Heavy.

Spy rolled the cigarette between two of his fingers. "Personal assessment or professional?"

Engineer leaned out from his seat to glare at him, obscured by Heavy’s massive form. "We'd _really_ prefer professional, Spy…"

"Very well." Spy observed Soundwave landing a well placed shot into the enemy medic's head. "From what I've seen so far, I'd say he's one of the least awful at his job. He’s clearly memorized the disguise kit and the invisible watch’s functions.”

The footage switched over to Soundwave now heading into a building, slowly walking and surveying the posters on the wall.

"He could stand to be less curious, however…"

Demoman chimed back in, "And pass up the opportunity to be a sneaky bastard like you--- ONE STICKY FOR A HEAVY?!?"

"Please, tell me what you really think, Demoman…" Spy said.

Pyro tipped the popcorn towards Demoman, of which he took a few kernels, nodding in thanks. "Later, we're looking at whatever this sad display is."

The film rolled on, depicted Breakdown’s demise at the hands of the BLU heavy.

"That wouldn't have happened if you actually used yer bombs!"

"Now, they're just starting out, they still need time to adjust." Engineer said.

Demoman crossed his arms. "It didn't stop the BLU demoman from blowing them all to kingdom come, like they bloody well deserve!"

Spy rose from his seat. "Right, I think I've seen enough. Anyone want to join me in letting our new co-workers know how they did?"

The mercs avoided looking at Spy, and a few mumbled to each other.

Soldier jutted up from his chair. "I'll go! These sorry maggots all need a court martial, but I'll give them the best next thing!" He punched a huge closed fist on his open hand.

Spy let out a pained sigh. "Anyone else? _Please?"_

After mumbling one last thing to Medic, Heavy also got up. "I follow. Keep Soldier out of trouble."

"Good enough, I suppose. The rest of you, stay on guard in case something happen--"

Spy silenced himself upon hearing distant shouting. It wasn't loud enough to pick out the words, but enough to hear that it came from the new heavy.

"Just, keep an ear out." Spy finished.

Engineer ran up to Spy as they exited the projection room. "Why bring Soldier?"

"They might be pitiful at combat, but I still want back up if something unsavory happens." Spy said.

"Isn't he better at starting fights than finishing them?" Engineer said.

"That's where you and Heavy come in."

Engineer groaned, most likely since he got called out trying to play peacekeeper once again.

"Oh come now, Laborer.” Spy said. “This should be fun…"

 

\------

 

"Was _that_ an acceptable performance to you, doctor?!"

Megatron was in the throes of giving his subordinates a very thorough briefing. Knockout's eyes widened in fear, wanting nothing more than to sink back into his seat. Maybe he could at least keep Megatron from getting physical.

"I-- I'm sorry Megatron, I tried, I really did! There was just so much to keep track of, I could barely--"

"Then let me simplify it, Knockout; your role is to heal me and me alone!"

Knockout could just barely see Starscream grinning from behind Megatron. Rather interesting, considering the throttling he got not thirty seconds earlier.

"No wonder you lose…" A voice spoke from the entrance. Knockout was never more thrilled to see a very large Russian man looming over a doorway.

Megatron's snarl turned into a smile. Not a good sign. "Care to elaborate?"

Heavy pointed at Knockout. "His duty is to heal everyone. Priority is heavy class, yes, but everyone gets healed if needed."

"Oh? Did your Medic tell you that?"

Knockout spoke up, emboldened. "He did mention it, actually."

Megatron snapped his head back at him, fuming. Knockout shrunk back once more.

Once he finally turned back towards Heavy, Megatron looked calmer. He laughed, still as disingenuous as when the two huge men met. "Perhaps we still have something to learn, then. Am I correct in guessing that is why you are here?"

Spy was about to speak, but was interrupted by one of Soldier's brash gestures. "We are! And the only thing you sorry excuses for recruits need to learn is how to feel anything in your bodies again, after you all drop down and give me one hundred!"

Engineer pulled him back to the side by the shoulder. "No one is giving anyone a hundred…"

Soldier looked down bashfully at the floor. "Fifty?"

"No, Soldier."

"How about twenty? They can do twenty!"

Engineer sighed. "No."

From his short time here, Knockout had picked up that Soldier was a few pencils short of the case, but he was tragically right about their performance. And also about them managing twenty push-ups.

Soldier and his teammates moved aside, allowing Spy to make his way to the board. "Gentlemen, I'll keep this brief, as there is much to cover. And mainly because that was the worst match I've seen in quite some time."

"The other team surely had more time to prepare." Shockwave's usual monotone was in place. Coming from anyone else, it almost would have sounded like a pathetic excuse.

"From what I've gathered; no. And you could be facing an army of robots for all I care, you fight together and you fight smartly." Spy said.

"Yeah, I bet there's a lot of robot armies that need fighting around here…" sneered Breakdown. Knockout chuckled along.

They didn't answer immediately. But the smirk that Spy and Heavy exchanged was enough to give the worst possible answer.

"You're joking?" Airachnid said dryly.

Spy eyed his cigarette, twirling it in contemplation. "There are quite a few more surprises in store for you all to enjoy. All the more reason to be prepared."

Knockout looked at Breakdown, who only offered back a small shrug accompanied by a worried pout.

"Besides, as I understand it, you and the new team have a history together. Wouldn't it be in your own advantage to best them, then?" Spy said.

"That is none of your concern.” Megatron said. “But you have been here longer, and we would do well to listen to your… advice."

Spy was taken aback by Megatron's shift in mood. He’d get used to his manipulative ways soon enough. Either way, he took it as a sign to carry on.

"Yes, let's start in class order, shall we?" Spy clasped his hands, grinning. If Knockout didn't know any better he'd say Spy was enjoying their embarrassing defeat.

Starscream groaned. "Must we?"

"Yes, Starscream, we must. And we'll get the worst out of the way while we're there, too."

The scout fumed with anger while most of the room chuckled, or frowned in disapproval.

Spy continued. "While a scout might be less involved with team coordination than, say, an engineer or a medic, he doesn't go out on a fun sight seeing tour around base, _mon cher."_

Knockout's own French was extremely rusty, but he knew that those last words were spoken without a single bit of endearment to them.

"I was merely doing reconnaissance work! Isn't it in my job name, after all?"

"In that case, I'm sure your teammates can vouch for the information you relayed back!" Spy gestured at said teammates.

No one spoke up. It was a mutual gesture, really, Starscream would have done the same for them.

"Mh-hmm." Spy raised an eyebrow as he took a long breath from his cigarette. "And this is _after_ Megatron told you to not do that?"

"I don't see him wearing my uniform, do I? What would he know about what my job here is!"

Megatron looked about to lunge after Starscream, but a restraining stare from Heavy stopped him. Maybe the Russian finally beat some sense into him when the rest weren't looking.

"Whatever criticisms your teammates have, you listen to. If they are wrong, they are wrong, but how can you know that beforehand?" Spy glanced back at his cigarette, now rendered to a stub. "Unless you are convinced you performed flawlessly?"

Starscream puffed out his chest. “Of course I did!”

Spy let out a short scoff. "You were half the reason my team was laughing at the camera footage. And I think even you would know that one ninth does not come out to fifty percent."

"So before this I'm the one responsible for losing the match, and now I'm just another part of the team?"

Spy put his cigarette to his lips, extracting one last breath from it. "The two aren't mutually exclusive..."

A tension sank over the room as the two stared at each other, Spy in amusement, Starscream in anger. It was the latter who ceded by giving a huff before sinking back into his chair, as a petulant child would. Everyone else in the room was leaning forward a bit, transfixed by the conversation.

"Fine! Then what would you recommend? Or, even better, what advice would the insufferable brat I constantly have to be around have to offer me?" Starscream said.

Spy's lip curled downwards. "That insufferable brat can do your job a hundred times better than you, and you would do well to listen to him."

Engineer cleared his throat. "I mean, it's not like Scout isn't a bit of a handful himself, Spy." Soldier laughed at the remark.

"Less than him!" Spy spat out while gesturing at Starscream.

"What's that supposed to mean?!" The accused man rose from his seat.

Both of them glared at each other, infuriated. Starscream wanted a wrong answer, Knockout knew him all too well, and Spy looked about ready to stoop down to that level again.

Instead, Spy glanced at his team’s Heavy, and it made him calmer, but still deadly serious.

“It means… you work with your colleagues, not away from them. You admit fault and correct yourself. Or you get expelled from the team.”

Starscream, still angered, turned around, but not enough to fully look behind him.

“Do as he says, Starscream.” Megatron commanded.

The scout finally sat back down again, this time possibly for more than ten seconds.

Spy flicked his cigarette butt away and looked at the other mercenaries. With each of them he surveyed, his face grew more tired, the wrinkles peeking from the edges of his mask deepening.

He let out a dramatic exhale as he shoved both of his palms into his eyes. “Soldier, you take the next one, I have a headache...”

 

\-------

 

"Capture point's the other way, dumbass!"

Sniper chuckled at Scout’s comment, fishing for the last popcorn kernels in the bucket. “Why do we have a rocket there, anyway?”

The rest of the team laughed and lended their own comments to the company’s myriad of strange choices. All except Medic. For a while now he kept turning his head around whenever he could hear some distant voices echoing in the hallway

“Don’t worry, doc, Heavy can take care of himself.” Demoman said, leaning over to peek into the popcorn.

“Yes, yes, I know that.” Medic turned back around, but he was still restless in his seat.

Demoman pointed at the screen. “You probably should see how the new medic’s doing, tell him how to be better and such.”

Medic shifted back into position.

“It doesn’t matter, the camera is back on Starscream again.” Medic said with a wave of his hand.

Scout groaned. “Jeez, how long has he been staring at that thing?”

“Dunno, but it would do him good if it got crammed up his arse.” Sniper said.

Using the little chuckles from the rest of the group to think, Demoman mulled over his very tasteful joke. “From what I heard from Spy, he could take it.”

If Medic had a drink, he would have spat it out. Pyro’s laughs were clearly audible from their gas mask, and Scout was having none of it, an expression of distraught horror on his face.

The hearty wheezing, however, was coming from Sniper. Demoman looked right at him when he recovered, trying to be as smug and charming as possible, befitting Sniper’s usual taste in men.

Sniper caught the look and stopped laughing. He cleared his throat. “Wasn’t that funny…”

Demoman rolled his eyes. Fine, if that’s how the bastard wants to act...

Medic reclined in his seat a bit. “Missile shaped ones… Wonder if it’s been done.”

“Missile shaped what?” Scout asked, still disgusted.

“Oh, nothing.” Medic said.

Another sound from the hallway, this time a vicious clattering and accompanied by more shouting.

Medic got up from his chair. “I think I should be checking on them.”

“Aye, alright, I’ll come with you then.” Demoman got up as well.

“Ah, thank you, Demoman!” He put a hand on his shoulder in appreciation. “Do you think this will require our weapons?”

“What are you talking about, laddie?!” Demoman picked up his grenade launcher from a nearby table. “Of course it will!”

Demoman tossed over the medigun. Medic fumbled with the device, barely managing to keep it from falling. “Ach, careful!”

Demoman turned back to the small audience. “Anyone else coming?”

Scout let out an uncharacteristically lazy sigh. “Ehh, maybe if there’s an explosion or somethin’...”

“Well, that doesn’t depend on me, for once!” Demoman left, Medic not far behind him.

“Which room are they in?” the doctor asked, attaching the medigun’s hose as he walked briskly.

“Hell if I know, just follow the shouting.” Demoman said, keeping an ear out.

Right on cue, a thunderous voice resounded from the doors right next to them.

“MY DUCK CONFIT WAS FLAWLESS, YOU INGRATES!!!”

“I believe that would be Predaking.” Medic put a hand on one of the doors, preparing to push it.

“He’s right, though, it was.” Demoman said.

Medic threw the door open, making both himself and Demoman known. The assembled members of both teams barely looked at them despite their bombastic entrance, and turned back to Predaking and Engineer.

“Look, Predaking, no one here is saying you’re a bad cook, quite the contrary, actually. But maybe just that you spending so much time away from training impacted your performance a touch?”

Demoman wondered what short stick Engineer drew that got him into talking down a man half a meter taller than him. Nevertheless, he was holding his own, his voice calm as ever, despite the slight sheen of sweat on his brow.

“Then who shall undertake the task of cooking?” Predaking said.

“We shall take turns, as we did before you came here. It is really not that hard a solution!” Medic said, with the tone of a scolding mother.

Predaking gave Medic a onceover stare before answering. “I’m not fond of German cuisine.”

Medic sneered. “No problem, then! I shall serve you all up as dinner instead! Will that satisfy your delicate palate enough!?”

Heavy spoke up. “Doktor, please, this is unnecessary.”

Medic swatted Heavy’s interjection away. “No, Heavy, I insist, it is quite amusing to hear what possible demands they have after that complete swill we all saw today!”

“Doktor…” Heavy pleaded once more.

Demoman offered a hand on Medic’s shoulder, as Medic did to him earlier. “Aye, Doc, it’s best to let it go.”

Medic let out a small chuckle. “You’re right, I’m sorry… And besides, best to prove you wrong by action rather than words, Predaking?”

Predaking was still scowling. “Try as you might. You will fail.”

Medic retained his smile, but he was also gritting his teeth and breathing through them. Demoman jumped a bit when Medic suddenly turned towards him, wearing that same expression.

“So, Demoman, what did you think of Breakdown’s performance?!”

 

\-------

 

The tiny figures on the screen argued in the central monitor. The sound was off, but Ms Pauling could gather that some of the veteran mercenaries were trying to talk Medic and Predaking down. This development made the Administrator groan and roll her eyes. She switched it to the battle footage instead.

“Ha, ha, yes, perfect!” The Administrator was laughing, downright cackling, at the new recruits’ first match.

Ms Pauling was there, as she always was, dutifully taking notes. “But, uh, ma’am… The RED team here lost completely. They didn’t even hold down a single point.”

“Oh, I noticed that, Ms Pauling.” She laughed again, spreading her hands out while keeping her elbows to her side. “A mere detail, completely unimportant!”

“Wait, really? Why?” Ms Pauling dared to ask.

The Administrator fiddled with some buttons and knobs, rewinding the myriad of cameras to her whims. She looked back at Ms Pauling when she was done. “Look at them. Look at their faces. What do you see?”

“Uh…” The assistant squinted. All of the views were more significantly zoomed in now, to better present the point.

There was Wheeljack, his happy and boisterous attitude now contorted into a horrible scowl as he plunged his broken bottle deep into Shockwave’s good arm. A monitor further left depicted Arcee, mouth open in a gruesome snarl, having abandoned her kukri completely, laying down blow after blow to an off screen Airachnid. Even Soundwave’s expressionless mask was caught ceding to a frown while he stabbed Optimus in the back.

All of the screens showed images similar, or worse, than these, and all from this single battle.

“I guess… They don’t like each other?” Ms Pauling said.

“Hate!” The Administrator cheered, startling Ms Pauling a bit. “They hate each other! All of them cannot stand to breathe the same air the other team does and it is beautiful! It is everything I ever dreamed of!”

She slumped back in her massive chair, her tone now quiet and weighted. “I have squandered countless fortunes to get entire crops of mercenaries to not even a portion of this. Hate keeps people motivated, Ms Pauling. But it also keeps them distracted. It is an irreplaceable resource.”

Ms Pauling contemplated the screens, if only to not have to look at her boss. “Right, uh, anything else, ma’am?”

“That will be all, Ms Pauling, you’re dismissed.” She waved her hand and turned her chair back around, once again talking and whispering at the recorded footage that couldn’t say anything back.

Ms Pauling gave a quick departing gesture and scurried off. She wasn’t about to contradict whatever her boss' thoughts on this were. Poking holes in her ideals was not why she was hired, and it’s not why the Administrator appreciated her so much.

If this is what the Administrator wanted, then it would be carried out. No matter the cost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
> this bitch out there fighting in the desert with blocked eyebrows and a flawless matte foundation........... we stan.  
> 
> 
>   
> 
> 
> also damn, starscream was really mean to bumblebee in this one... so here's a sketch of the lil' guy as an apology.  
> 
> 
>  
> 
>   
> 
> 
> an apology... to bumblebee. a fictional character. that doesn't exist...  
> hey, if he was real, i'd like to think he'd appreciate it, and that's what counts. 


	5. "Saw Mill Saw Mill Mill Saw" Is A Valid Sentence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> new chapter, yay! i actually finished this one pretty quick, even if the posting date doesn't reflect that, shhhhhh.... still, hope y'all enjoy it! <3

"Alright, just so you know, I have a cramp from laughing at the footage from yesterday, so I want you to keep in mind how tough this is for me right now..."

Starscream put another bullet in a plywood mannequin's head, pretending it was Scout.

The arrogant brat continued. "But hey, I guess you’re not a complete failure. You can actually run in your weird shoes, and you ain't that bad a shot."

The new recruit briefly paused in his target practice, absorbing the compliments.

Scout let out one of his stupid chuckles. "But the rest?! Oh man, woof…"

One last shot went in the target before Starscream whipped around. "Fine then, Scout! What exactly did I do wrong?! Please describe all of my mistakes in excruciatingly long detail, that my torment may be perpetually extended!”

Scout was unmoved. "Alright, I kinda lost you on that last part, but I might have to skip over some stuff, I don't wanna be here all night."

Starscream growled and returned to the targets. If Scout was any denser, he'd spontaneously create a black hole.

"Let's start with you not even trying to cap the point: what the hell was that all about? Did you… Did you get scared?" Scout took on a mocking tone on that last sentence.

Starscream reloaded his gun. "Scared? With the respawn machine? Don't make me laugh... No, Scout, forgive me instead for not seeing the appeal of standing on a glowing circle until it changes color."

"The appeal is that ya get paid stupid big amounts of cash to do it! And also that if you don't do it, you'll die for real."

"Yes, I am aware of why I'm here."

Another horrid little laugh. "Then fuckin’ act like it! I get that it's your first day on the job, but that other new scout… What's his name?"

"Bumblebee."

"Yeah, Bubblebee. He ain't quite there yet, but you made him look on my level! Pretty embarassin' for ya, honestly…"

"I got some kills in, that's all that counts."

Scout stared blankly at him. "I… I told you a bunch of times that it ain't really the point of a match. Your main focus is always the objective. Randomly killing people doesn't really help anyone.”

Starscream dropped the hand holding his firearm to the side. "Right you are, Scout. I don't see the point of target practice either."

"Yeah… Hey, you're right, that's not what you need right now. Let's go look at some training reels instead!"

He put a fresh clip into the pistol. "Oh, Scout, you misunderstand me; this training session is over, and I don't want to see you for the rest of the day. Or ever again, for that matter."

Scout sprinted in front of Starscream, blocking the way. "Uhhhh, no. You're either gonna get back there and continue your shooting practice, or we’re gonna go to the projector room."

"Out of my way, you insolent little--"

Scout spread his arms wide. "Just try me, man! I ain't movin' unless ya kill me!" 

Starscream smiled and pointed his gun at Scout.

"So be it."

Scout winced, realising the mistake he'd made. He avoided the few shots by ducking and dashing right after Starscream. Scout grabbed at the pistol and managed to dislodge it from Starscream’s grip. Their simultaneous vying for the gun made it clatter on the floor, some ten feet away.

Starscream made a scramble for it, but was stopped by Scout sliding in front of him. All he had as a result of the fall was a scraped elbow, not enough to keep him from reaching for the weapon.

A task that was impeded somewhat by Scout dragging him back to the shooting range by both of his legs. 

"We're gonna go back to training and we're gonna have a _great time!"_

Starscream raked his nails on the concrete floor, trying to grab for the gun. He was certain this isn't what Scout meant when he boasted that he could easily pull his own weight, but evidently he could.

A swift kick to Scout's chest made him let go. He stumbled backwards with a heaving cough. Starscream ran towards the gun. Scout recovered quickly, running towards Starscream and landing a blow right on his back, knocking him over.

Pain coursed in Starscream's jaw as soon as he fell down. He made the mistake of turning around, and was greeted with a fist to his eye. Even without his bat, Scout hit infuriatingly hard and fast.

Starscream blocked a newly started punch. "Let go of me, you idiot!"

"The hell's your problem?! Just go back to training and fucking listen to me!" Scout's anger was undercut by Starscream crushing his fist.

Something sharp stung Starscream's back. He reached behind him to dislodge the object, all while still keeping it hidden from view. "If that's what it takes, then they can fire me on the spot!" 

"Good, I'll be the first to put in a word for your dumb ass!"

Starscream let go of Scout's fist, holding up both of his hands and licking his newly split lip. "Wait, what!? Scout, come now, let's be rational about this!"

It worked. The young man relaxed his arms and removed himself from Starscream's midsection.

“Yeah… Yeah, alright.” Scout said. Starscream made a show of trying to get up.

"Does that mean you'll go back to training?" He smiled, his buck teeth showing through, making him look even stupider.

The gun was pulled out from where Starscream laid. "No."

It was far too late for Scout when his smile faded, realising what Starscream was planning. This time the bullet didn't miss, landing a clean shot right through his head.

With that distraction gone, the pain to Starscream's face returned. Damn the little brat for making him a swollen, bruised mess.

This couldn't be hidden at all. He dashed to the infirmary. Knockout could heal him without asking too many questions.

 

\--------

 

The little doves always enjoyed getting pet. The one Heavy was currently and delicately scratching the head of was either Euclid or Pythagoras. One of the older ones, that much he could recognize.

Medic had summoned him to move some equipment. He wasn't lying about it, he did indeed have a shipment that just came in. But he needed more than just help with moving a few crates.

Heavy dusted his hands after pushing over the last of the boxes in place. Whatever they contained, Medic wasn’t opening them just yet, only opting to record their arrival for now. This task made him happy enough. Or at least, it made him appear happy.

"Is Doktor well?"

"Hmm? _Ja,_ Heavy, I am quite well, why wouldn't I be?" Medic took one last note on a clipboard before setting it on his desk. He headed for his supply cabinets. "Especially when everything here is accounted for."

Avoidance was Medic's worst habit, but Heavy knew he could push past it if he kept a gentle tone.

"You know what I mean."

Medic stopped and looked aside, sullen. He tapped his fingers together. "Heavy, you like my cooking, right?"

"Of course, Doktor! Is very good and filling.” Heavy patted his stomach for emphasis. “New pyro does not like it, but he is too fancy for us."

"Hmm, yes, but... I'm not so sure he grew up on food that was lacking in nutrients." His hand reached right over his head, at about Predaking’s height.

"Then it was his mother's cooking!"

Medic laughed. "Oh, most likely… We should bring her in instead, if only to give her son a good talking to." 

Heavy’s own laughter wasn’t as joyous. He went near where the other man was, who was now diligently labeling a small pill container.

"Doktor shouldn't have gotten angry." He said.

"Ach, I know… I suppose it was hard to hear such a thing from someone so gifted." Medic placed back the little capsule in its cupboard. The writing on the bottle was bolder and messier than the others next to it.

"Not gifted for battle." Heavy grinned at Medic.

Medic caught on, returning it with a smile of his own. “That much is true."

Heavy enveloped Medic’s hand with his own, grasp trying to be firm yet reassuring. "They want you to get angry at nothing. They are bad men."

The hand underneath became limp as it tried to pull away. "I’m no better."

"Doktor…" Several small kisses were given to Medic, as Heavy pulled him closer, his voice even quieter. "Do not say that."

The doctor’s face was still solemn, but grew calmer and warmer with every kiss, finally ceeding to a little laugh. "Ah, Heavy… You are too kind to me."

"Only because you are good cook." Heavy smiled, still gently stroking Medic’s hand, relishing the absence of the rubber gloves that usually covered them.

A mischievous and familiar grin appeared on Medic’s face. He pulled Heavy towards him. "Well then, I shall make a feast fit for a king…"

Heavy's chuckle was caught in Medic's mouth as the smaller man pulled him in for a deep kiss. He grew bolder, firmly grabbing Heavy's rear with both hands.

Someone near the infirmary doors cleared their throat.

Heavy felt the tremor in his mouth from Medic’s yelp. At least he didn't bite his tongue this time.

Medic tried to straighten himself out as best he could. "Starscream! How… How long have you been standing there?!”

"Enough to vomit in both of your shoes."

Starscream was licking a bit of blood on his lip and clutching at his black eye. Whatever idiotic confrontation he got in resulted in wounds severe enough for him to warrant this interruption.

He looked around. "Where is Knockout?"

"He said he was going for a drive." Medic made his way towards the medigun, in no hurry at all. "What is the matter?"

"It's quite simple, doctor; I am gravely injured, and you must tend to me."

"I can see you are injured, Herr Starscream, I was asking what specifically happened to cause this." Medic mumbled a small "Again" as he prepared his medigun.

Starscream's eyes, or the one eye, rather, widened. "Just a light scuffle, really, nothing anyone needs to waste time on."

Heavy glared at the intruder. "Weren't you in training room with Scout?"

"I was! But we finished early and I encountered… Some minor difficulties on the way out." He tried to disguise his nervous hand-wringing as the wiping away of the blood on his fingers. "Just a light scuffle, really!"

Medic sighed. "Fine, have a seat here."

"You believe him?" Heavy asked, not lowering his voice.

The same conversational volume was shared by Medic. "Not one bit, but the sooner I heal him, the sooner he'll be gone."

Starscream clapped his hands together. Heavy tried not to laugh at how pathetic his swollen lip and eye made him look. "Your generosity knows no bounds, doctor!"

“On the gurney.” The doctor ordered, pointing at it.

Starscream obliged without a single protest. At least he was quick about it, as his job demanded. The medigun’s beams made short work of the man’s injuries, restoring Starscream back to his regular unbearable self within only a few seconds. The device had just been pulled from Starscream as he immediately scrambled off the cot.

"Yes, thank you very much, doctor!" He made briskly for the exit.

Just as he neared the swinging doors, a great crash made them fly open, a small dent left in both of them at the point of impact. In the middle of them stood a very angry Scout, leg still outstretched from the thunderous kick he just dealt.

"You fucking _dick."_ He was pointing at Starscream, who was frozen in fear.

So it _was_ Scout that caused these injuries... Heavy couldn't help but be impressed.

Starscream laughed nervously. "Scout! How good of you to join us! Just in time to resume training!"

"You said you were done with training." Heavy looked at Starscream, who had now become worried and sullen.

"Yeah, like hell we were! This fucking asshole shot me to get out of it! I respawned just now!” Heavy had rarely seen Scout this upset. It was never a good sign. 

"You did what?" Medic's face wrinkled, in confusion and in anger.

Starscream was looking for an opening to run away, stammering as he found none. “It was an accident! My aim must have been off…"

“What?! That’s fucking bullshit!” Scout turned to Medic.

Heavy recognized the look on Scout’s face. It was a much more severe version of the pleading and wounded look a small child might give to their parents, when their older sibling was lying about the trouble they caused.

"I’ve heard quite enough of this… Heavy?" Medic looked at him, and then back at the older scout.

Heavy nodded. Starscream tried to escape, but Heavy easily pinned his arms to his back. Considering it was three against one, he opted not to immobilize his legs.

Normally Scout would be taking childish and smug pleasure in this kind of situation. But he had his arms crossed and was leaning on a counter, brow furrowed and barely looking at Starscream. This entire arrangement they were all in was clearly getting to the young man. 

Medic wasn’t any happier, arms crossed and facing the problem recruit.

“Herr Starscream… I don’t think I have to elaborate why we don’t go around shooting each other in the head, even with respawn enabled.”

He dragged a hand across his face. “But _especially_ not for something as idiotically mundane as wanting to opt out of training! And especially when one is the lowest ranked out of the entire team!”

“What will you do to me?!” Starscream’s voice was higher pitched than usual.

Medic’s lip curled in disgust. “Oh, shut up… I will do nothing to you.”

“You see? He does not even want to torture you. Feel bad.” Heavy told Starscream, who only whimpered in response.

“Indeed…” Medic said. “What I will do instead is offer you a deal. Go back with Scout, and do everything he says--”

Scout smiled for the first time since entering the room. “Everything?”

“--Everything related to basic training that he says, and you will have our silence on this ever having happened. Or at the very least, whatever we can muster to excuse this mistake, when the word inevitably gets around.”

Starscream groaned.

Medic held out an ear. “What was that, Starscream? Call the Administrator right now and tell her what you just did? Or perhaps Megatron would be more willing to hear about this?”

Heavy felt the man cower against him. He pushed him forward. “Megatron doesn’t need to hear about this!”

“He won’t if you actually behave yourself! Now, are we in agreement?”

Heavy assumed Starscream rolled his eyes, given Medic’s reaction. He gave a small nod. His reply was laced with purest venom. "Agreed... _Doctor."_

“Good. Now get out.” Medic pointed at the doors. Starscream dashed towards them as soon as Heavy let go of him.

Scout sighed. “Guess I gotta follow him…”

“Ah, not just yet, Scout." Medic held out a hand to grab the young man's attention. "Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine, respawn fixed me up.”

Heavy raised an eyebrow. “Fixed from what?”

Scout looked aside. “Okay, fine, geez, he got some hits on me… But I would’ve got him if he didn’t trick me! He…”

Another sigh from the young man, with a slump of his shoulders. “He stopped fighting me and he said we could go back to training. I mean… I believed him, so I stopped punching him. And, yeah, he shot me.”

It would take a small miracle for Scout to ever admit any character flaw of his, but Heavy saw how he felt guilty in having his kindness being taken advantage of. 

He put a hand on Scout’s shoulder. “Scout did right in believing promise. But not from that man. He is a, uh…”

“Complete and utter bastard?” Scout offered.

 _“Da,_ that.” Heavy freed Scout’s shoulder with a small pat.

“You can swear, Heavy, we are all adults here. In theory.” Medic said, giving his glasses a polish. 

Heavy shrugged. “Feels strange in English.”

“Speaking of, I better join him before he sets the whole projector room on fire or something…” Scout said.

Medic put his glasses back on. “Isn’t that Pyro’s job?” 

“Pyro ain’t never given us this much shit, and I still don’t even get what they’re saying under all that weird suit!" 

Medic and Heavy chuckled at Scout’s little joke. The young man smiled back, but frowned once more when he remembered where he was supposed to be.

He waved. "Anyway, thanks for the help, Doc!”

“A pleasure.” Medic said.

”Heavy.” Scout made little gun motions with his hands. Heavy returned them, not moving anything else.

And with that, Scout left, but not before also finger-gunning at the imprint he left on the metal doors.

A brief silence went by. Heavy looked at Medic, who smiled, with a shake of his head. He keeled his head back to check on his doves, who by now were perched above, in the high ceiling pipes and beams.

“The noise scared them… I’ll need to feed them a lot of treats to get them through all of this.” He cupped one of his hands to his mouth, presumably to speak to them better. “You hear me, up there? That is what you are, fat and spoiled!”

The birds merely flapped around and stared blankly around them.

“Good. It keeps them healthy.” Heavy pulled Medic towards him once more.

Medic rubbed Heavy’s chest. “You’re biased…”

Heavy chuckled, muffled by his lips being pressed on Medic’s neck.

The doctor grinned, mischievous and eager. “Hmm, yes… We were busy with something, weren’t we?”

 

\-------

 

Starscream grumbled to himself as he buttoned his jacket. His decision to visit the local town of Teufort was one he made to escape the base, and especially Scout, for a few hours. Under any other circumstances, he never would have even bothered.

The kitchy little restaurant he decided to eat at was the highlight of his outing so far, and even then, it was absolutely nothing to praise. The food was tolerable, the wine, mediocre. He was willing to bet the owner wasn’t even Italian.

Bigger towns and even bigger cities were located nearby, thankfully. Starscream vowed to explore those instead, and never bother with this dingy ramshackle town filled with its obtuse and brainless inhabitants. Hardest tube of toothpaste he ever had to purchase…

The shadows on the ground were getting as long as his patience was getting thin. He turned around, looking at the restaurant only for its wall clock. An hour left until the next mission. No reasons to stay longer came to him when he tried to conjure any.

He stomped towards the town’s obligatory casino. Not for any gambling, not without some prior rigging and bribes, but because he left his scooter in their parking lot.

Of all the town's establishments, it was the most illuminated, especially apparent at dusk. Whatever it took to draw out the hapless visitor who had the misfortune of ending up in this hovel.

One example of such a visitor was clearly having a bad time at the slots, smashing his fist against the tray and banging his head on the reels, resting it there in defeat. Starscream laughed at him, but stopped once he recognized who it was. Thankfully, he was still unseen. He ducked behind a parked car and observed from outside.

It was Smokescreen. He was all alone, and was dressed too perfectly to be tearing out his hair in such a manner. He fumbled in his pocket for something and made for the door.

Nervous hands grabbed at a cigarette carton tucked away in his vest and pulled a single fresh one from it. It was lit with an unsteady hand. He glanced quickly at his watch, and mumbled what were most likely a few profanities.

He held out some of his fingers, counting on them. He paused after he finished, carrying his knuckle to his mouth as his eyes darted back to the casino.

The young man flicked his half finished cigarette on the pavement and darted back inside, continuing to try his withered luck on the same slot machine.

Careful to not be seen, Starscream approached his scooter and pulled it away from the large and flashy window. Only when he was sure that he was in the clear did he kick start it, heading back to the base.

He grinned. This trip wasn’t a total waste after all.

 

\-------

 

Today’s God forsaken battle ground was a lumber yard, appropriately going by the name of “Sawmill”.

If fighting in a desert at noon was painful, trying to spar in a rainy, muddy lumber yard at night was somehow even worse. Starscream had found his way on a rooftop, trying to gauge… anything, really.

Holding a hand over his brow, he could see the little room the BLUs were ferociously guarding. He knew he had to get in there, but that was also where the infernal sentry beeps were coming from. Cliffjumper was just outside, diligently torching anyone who tried to go near.

Starscream kneeled, thinking. Even Soundwave hadn’t managed to go into the room, the enemy team having set up their pyro at the entrance for just that reason. 

Their own team wasn’t doing very well, but were holding out the match at one to nothing, in the BLU's favor. They would probably blame him again for the loss, as if them losing the briefcase was not entirely their own fault.

A large figure appeared from one of the corners. Megatron was alone, but was more than enough of a match for the enemy pyro. Cliffjumper knew this, and decided to retreat into the room where the sentry was.

Starscream jumped down from the roof, near where their leader had stopped. "What should we do, Megatron?"

Megatron looked at the small room. "Our only way to victory is an Ubercharge. However, it will be wasted if the enemy team has more than just a sentry waiting in that room."

He turned back towards Starscream.

"But Megatron! I stand no chance! I will die instantly!" 

Megatron grinned, a leer as sharp and cruel as ever. "Well then, Starscream, I hope your memory is as quick as your legs…"

He grabbed the scout by his backpack and tossed him a few feet forward, making him stumble.

"Wait for me after you exit respawn, report anything of note you see, and tell Knockout to stay out of enemy fire until I rejoin both of you."

Megatron left before Starscream could object. With him heading near their respawn, the scout wondered if Megatron did that expressly to keep a constant eye on him. Either way, he was forced to comply.

His scattergun was uselessly reloaded for his mad dash downstairs. Cliffjumper yelled out and tried to scorch him, but Starscream managed to make it to the basement, and caught a glimpse of the BLU team's setup through the flames engulfing him.

When he respawned, he headed right outside, as ordered. It didn't take him too long to find Knockout, even without having to call for him. His medigun's glowing beam was on Breakdown, who was casually chatting with him. They looked a bit startled once they saw him. Breakdown darted off with a cocky grin, grenade launcher in hand.

"Knockout, stay here!" Starscream said.

A groan and an eye roll from the medic. "For the last time, Starscream, I'm not following you..."

"Not for me, you fool, you're supposed to wait for Megatron."

"I can always rely on you for fresh and new developments, Starscream…" Knockout turned around, coming face to face with Megatron.

"If you want a new development, doctor, then this would be your chance."

"Megatron! Yes, right, what is the plan?!" Knockout said, inching away from Starscream as soon as he realized how close he went next to him after being startled.

"Do you have a charge yet?" Megatron asked.

"A charge?... Oh, the Uber! Not quite, but it's at seventy six percent! Why, do we need it?" Knockout said.

Megatron’s eye twitched. "As a matter of fact, yes, we do need it. And perhaps we could experience one outside of the start of every round!"

Knockout lowered his head.

Some mud splashed near Starscream. Dreadwing had emerged from respawn and was running by.

"Dreadwing!" Megatron called. "You're with us."

The soldier complied with a nod. With the small group gathered, Megatron finally laid out his plan.

"We'll need to save the charge for the intelligence room. To get there, Dreadwing and will lay down suppressive fire to cover us. After I destroy the sentry, whoever is still alive will carry the briefcase. Get it back to our own room by any means necessary."

Starscream held a hand to his chest. "I will carry the briefcase, as speed is required for the task."

Megatron merely raised an eyebrow. "Yes, Starscream, you would be ideal for this…"

The scout swelled with pride, grinning eagerly.

"Provided you do not die." He hauled his massive gun and headed off, followed by Knockout and Dreadwing.

Starscream growled to himself, but he decided to run after them. At the very least, they’d make decent meat shields.

The way to the intelligence room was relatively uncontested, Bumblebee in particular being very quickly dispatched. From the distant sounds, Starscream surmised that the BLU team was having a hard time against Shockwave’s sentry, not placed in the intelligence room, but still defending it.

It wasn’t much longer until they reached the enemy’s outer building. Dreadwing was posted as a lookout, as Starscream, Megatron and Knockout peered at the entrance.

“Charge at one hundred!” Knockout yelled out.

Megatron snarled. “Must you announce it?! They can hear us!”

Knockout looked to the side. “Well, how else would you know?”

“When you do as you are told and deploy it!”

Knockout shuffled in place. “What, like, now?”

“Yes, now!” With a kick to the backside, the doctor was urged down the staircase, with Megatron after him.

Starscream opted to stay at the top of the stairs. As much as he wanted to see Bulkhead and his sentry getting decimated, he didn't want to risk anything just yet. Only when he heard an explosion and no more of that blasted minigun revving did he peer in.

There was a sort of antechamber that led to the briefcase room. Starscream hissed as he landed in ankle deep water. In the room itself, only Megatron and Knockout remained, surrounded by parts of the destroyed sentry.

Knockout gestured towards the briefcase with a wince, trying to uselessly shake one of his feet dry. "All yours."

Starscream snatched it without a pause. He dashed out of the small room, hearing the Announcer blare out his triumph. Scattergun in hand, he ran right for his own team's intelligence room. He didn't have much of an idea on how to get there, but if he kept moving, victory was assured, and all by his own making.

A gigantic rocket blast landed right in front of him, the debris narrowly missing his eyes. Starscream stumbled backwards, looking around him, trying to re-adjust.

It was then that he heard the rifle shot, and re-appeared in the starting room.

 

\------- 

 

“Look, mate, getting shot when carrying the briefcase is gonna happen, even for him! And it’s a bloody improvement over his last match, that’s for sure!”

Another day, another performance review. Spy had literally begged on his knees for Sniper to attend the session in his stead. Sniper agreed, but only once Spy pulled out a paycheck. Not because he accepted any money, but because he thought that was going too far.

Or rather, that’s what his thoughts were an hour ago, before he had to partake in the surreal and disgusting experience of defending Starscream. To make matters worse, Demoman was the only member of his own team that was there. Better than nothing, he admitted.

Megatron's critiques were typically harsh. “That is completely irrelevant. He still dropped it, and it still cost us the match. Whatever attempt he made, he should have done more, starting by not faltering at the rocket launched at him!”

“I don’t know where you’re from, but getting shot at by missiles and surviving the ordeal is an experience that takes getting used to!" Sniper dared a peak at Starscream when he finished talking. He seemed just as bewildered at being vouched for, what with him barely having interjected so far.

Megatron leaned out from Sniper, sounding a tad calmer. “It didn’t phase me at all.”

“That’s all well and good. But don’t blame him for getting picked off for a completely natural reaction. It’s kind of what we do...” Sniper side eyed Airachnid. “Usually.”

She looked up from staring at a side corner of the room. “Hmm? Did you say something?”

He turned towards her fully. “I did. You could really get some more use out of your sniper rifle and less out of your knife. Should only be used for close quarters emergencies, really.”

She rolled her eyes and rose from her chair. “Whatever.”

The door was still swinging until everyone realized that she had just up and left.

“Can she do that?” Breakdown asked, perplexed.

“You know what? Yes. Yes she can. You’re all dismissed. Good try, I suppose, do even better next time.” Sniper removed his aviators to rub his eyes.

All of the new recruits left, not needing much permission to do so. The meeting or whatever these things qualified as was at least resolved in relative peace, considering.

When everyone had exited the room except him, he was accosted by Demoman, who was looking a bit concerned. “Don’t be so hard on her, laddie, she was trying her best.”

“Hard on her?! She’s a heartless lunatic, even by her own team’s standards!” He kept his voice down, but she probably heard him. Thank God for respawn.

“Well, yes, but maybe you could persuade her towards a better way of doing things, and not be such a ponce about it.” Demoman mumbled that last bit.

Sniper threw his hands up in the air. “Sure, I’ll just do that! Maybe I could talk to her over a candle lit dinner while we’re at it! I’m sure she’ll come right around in a flash!”

Demoman put both hands on his hips. “Aye, she definitely will, once she gets a good eyeful of your delightful personality!”

They were barely a hand's width apart now, both of them trying to seem bigger and more menacing by puffing out their chests.

Sniper leaned forward even more. “You’re not one to tell anyone anything about eyefuls!”

“What’s that supposed to mean!?” Oh, a nerve was definitely touched there, Sniper thought as he heard the telltale falter in Demoman’s voice, despite his shouting.

“I think you can figure it out!” Sniper was just as loud, but he forced himself to hold steady.

They stared at each other for what felt like centuries. Demoman’s features were contorted into a snarl, and Sniper could have sworn he saw green smoke coming from his eyepatch.

But all Demoman did was push Sniper out of his way, his face softening into discontented sadness as he headed for his room.

Sniper stood there, clutching at his arm, staring at the floor. He went too far, he knew it. He always had, since that first argument. A sort of strange revenge for Demoman’s insults back at his parents’ old house.

And after every time he did it, he wondered when it would ever stop feeling so awful.

 

\------

 

"So, they're giving you Upward, huh? Kind of a weird pick, but whatever, we'll make it work, thanks to the advice of a seasoned, and handsome, expert." Scout pointed a thumb at his chest, grinning.

Starscream was there with him, as he had to be, the light of the projector making his pouty frown even more obvious. Granted, it wasn’t like Scout was overjoyed about being here either, but it wasn’t a reason to be a dick about it.

Speaking of dicks, the one sitting next to him eventually gave an answer. “Why would I ever need your advice, Scout, when I was the only one of my team to even touch the briefcase?”

“Hey, you blind, or stupid, or something? It’s the heavy and medic that got you in the intel room, and it was the heavy who got the idea to begin with.” Scout gestured at the footage playing in front of them, even if it was now showing Shockwave tending to his sentry.

“Wasn’t it you that said, and I quote, ‘The rest of those chumps couldn’t even find their own posteriors without my help.’?” Starscream did the finger quote motion, but thankfully didn’t bother with whatever his impersonation of Scout would be. “So how is them helping me desirable, by your very own putrid metric?”

"Yeah, sure, I said that. Except I said 'asses' instead… But, I mean…”

Scout thought back to the infirmary, how his own Heavy and Medic helped him, how they believed him when he told them what happened. It made his stomach turn that in dismissing them, he'd be just as bad as the miserable asshole sitting next to him.

“Of course I want them to help me, dumbass! What, you think I could fight off nine other guys on my own?! All I could manage would be to hide in a corner and suck my thumb, if I even make it outta respawn!"

This was still an embarrassing thing to admit.

"Don’t tell any of them I said that or I'll kill you."

There, perfect.

"Fine, then. I suppose I’ll just be the eternal servant to Megatron’s schemes..." Starscream sunk further into his seat.

Scout shrugged. "He's the only one on your team who puts out decent plans, so, yeah, until you yourself can think of something that doesn’t suck, just do your job and keep pushing for the objective."

"Well, if you prize teamwork so very much, wouldn't a team training session be more effective, as far as strategic planning goes?"

A hand went to point at Starscream, about to object, but it was then moved to Scout's chin, thinking about what the guy just said. "Hey, that's… Actually a good idea!"

Starscream's face was pulled into an even bigger frown. "I instantly regret suggesting this."

Scout jumped from his seat. "I'm gonna let the other guys know--"

His joyous attitude came crashing down as he was pulled by the back of his shirt. Starscream's other arm wound around his neck, in what was sadly quite a strong chokehold.

Even more terrifying was the guy's voice, low and gravely, right next to Scout's ear. "I'll be dead and buried before I have to listen to this drivel while surrounded by both of these idiotic teams."

"Yeah okay, cool, can you let go of me now?" Scout patted the arm strangling him.

If a cruel grin had a sound, this was it. "And let you tell the others of this? I think not."

Goddammit… Not this shit again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> enjoy your mediocre pasta, asshead  
> 
> 
> [ ](https://imgur.com/PgbZnxm)  
> 
> 
> also, since i finally had the good sense to write in some heavy/medic content, have some very good art to celebrate.
> 
>  
> 
> [ ](https://imgur.com/062p8CB)  
> 
> 
>   
> 


End file.
